The Project Gutenberg EBook of Haydn, by J. Cuthbert Hadden
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Title: Haydn
Author: J. Cuthbert Hadden
Release Date: January 5, 2010 [EBook #3788]
Language: English
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To The Rev. Robert Blair, D.D. In Grateful Acknowledgment of
Many Kindnesses and Much Pleasant Intercourse

PREFACE

The authority for Haydn's life is the biography begun by the late Dr
Pohl, and completed after his death by E.V. Mandyczewski. To this work,
as yet untranslated, every subsequent writer is necessarily indebted,
and the present volume, which I may fairly claim to be the fullest life
of Haydn that has so far appeared in English, is largely based upon
Pohl. I am also under obligations to Miss Pauline D. Townsend, the
author of the monograph in the "Great Musicians" series. For the rest,
I trust I have acquainted myself with all the more important references
made to Haydn in contemporary records and in the writings of those who
knew him. Finally, I have endeavoured to tell the story of his career
simply and directly, to give a clear picture of the man, and to discuss
the composer without trenching on the ground of the formalist.

J.C.H.

EDINBURGH, September 1902.

HAYDN

CHAPTER I. BIRTH—ANCESTRY—EARLY YEARS

Introductory—Rohrau—A Poor Home—Genealogy—Haydn's Parents—His
Birth—His Precocity—Informal Music-making—His First
Teacher—Hainburg—"A Regular Little Urchin"—Attacks the Drum—A Piece
of Good Luck—A Musical Examination—Goes to Vienna—Choir School of
St Stephen's—A House of Suffering—Lessons at the Cathedral—A
Sixteen-Part Mass—Juvenile Escapades—"Sang like a Crow"—Dismissed
from the Choir.

Haydn's position, alike in music and in musical biography, is almost
unique. With the doubtful exception of Sebastian Bach, no composer of
the first rank ever enjoyed a more tranquil career. Bach was not once
outside his native Germany; Haydn left Austria only to make those
visits to England which had so important an influence on the later
manifestations of his genius: His was a long, sane, sound, and on the
whole, fortunate existence. For many years he was poor and obscure, but
if he had his time of trial, he never experienced a time of failure.
With practical wisdom he conquered the Fates and became eminent. A hard,
struggling youth merged into an easy middle-age, and late years found
him in comfortable circumstances, with a solid reputation as an artist,
and a solid retiring-allowance from a princely patron, whose house he
had served for the better part of his working career. Like Goethe and
Wordsworth, he lived out all his life. He was no Marcellus, shown for
one brief moment and "withdrawn before his springtime had brought forth
the fruits of summer." His great contemporary, Mozart, cut off while yet
his light was crescent, is known to posterity only by the products of
his early manhood. Haydn's sun set at the end of a long day, crowning
his career with a golden splendour whose effulgence still brightens the
ever-widening realm of music.

Voltaire once said of Dante that his reputation was becoming greater and
greater because no one ever read him. Haydn's reputation is not of that
kind. It is true that he may not appeal to what has been called the
"fevered modern soul," but there is an old-world charm about him which
is specially grateful in our bustling, nerve-destroying, bilious age. He
is still known as "Papa Haydn," and the name, to use Carlyle's phrase,
is "significant of much." In the history of the art his position is of
the first importance. He was the father of instrumental music. He laid
the foundations of the modern symphony and sonata, and established
the basis of the modern orchestra. Without him, artistically speaking,
Beethoven would have been impossible. He seems to us now a figure of a
very remote past, so great have been the changes in the world of music
since he lived. But his name will always be read in the golden book of
classical music; and whatever the evolutionary processes of the art may
bring, the time can hardly come when he will be forgotten, his works
unheard.

Rohrau

Franz Joseph Haydn was born at the little market-town of Rohrau, near
Prugg, on the confines of Austria and Hungary, some two-and-a-half
hours' railway journey from Vienna. The Leitha, which flows along the
frontier of Lower Austria and Hungary on its way to the Danube, runs
near, and the district

[Figure: Haydn's birth-house at Rohrau]

is flat and marshy. The house in which the composer was born had been
built by his father. Situated at the end of the market-place, it was in
frequent danger from inundation; and although it stood in Haydn's time
with nothing worse befalling it than a flooding now and again, it has
twice since been swept away, first in 1813, fours years after Haydn's
death, and again in 1833. It was carefully rebuilt on each occasion, and
still stands for the curious to see—a low-roofed cottage, very much
as it was when the composer of "The Creation" first began to be "that
various thing called man." A fire unhappily did some damage to the
building in 1899. But excepting that the picturesque thatched roof has
given place to a covering of less inflammable material, the "Zum Haydn"
presents its extensive frontage to the road, just as it did of yore.
Our illustration shows it exactly as it is to-day. [See an interesting
account of a visit to the cottage after the fire, in The Musical Times
for July 1899.] Schindler relates that when Beethoven, shortly before
his death, was shown a print of the cottage, sent to him by Diabelli, he
remarked: "Strange that so great a man should have been born in so poor
a home!" Beethoven's relations with Haydn, as we shall see later on,
were at one time somewhat strained; but the years had softened his
asperity, and this indirect tribute to his brother composer may readily
be accepted as a set-off to some things that the biographer of the
greater genius would willingly forget.

A Poor Home

It was indeed a poor home into which Haydn had been born; but
tenderness, piety, thrift and orderliness were there, and probably
the happiest part of his career was that which he spent in the tiny,
dim-lighted rooms within sound of Leitha's waters.

In later life, when his name had been inscribed on the roll of fame,
he looked back to the cottage at Rohrau, "sweet through strange years,"
with a kind of mingled pride and pathetic regret. Flattered by the great
and acclaimed by the devotees of his art, he never felt ashamed of his
lowly origin. On the contrary, he boasted of it. He was proud, as he
said, of having "made something out of nothing." He does not seem
to have been often at Rohrau after he was launched into the world, a
stripling not yet in his teens. But he retained a fond memory of his
birthplace. When in 1795 he was invited to inspect a monument erected
to his honour in the grounds of Castle Rohrau, he knelt down on the
threshold of the old home by the market-place and kissed the ground his
feet had trod in the far-away days of youth. When he came to make his
will, his thoughts went back to Rohrau, and one of his bequests provided
for two of its poorest orphans.

Genealogy

Modern theories of heredity and the origin of genius find but scanty
illustration in the case of Haydn. Unlike the ancestors of Bach and
Beethoven and Mozart, his family, so far as the pedigrees show, had
as little of genius, musical or other, in their composition, as the
families of Shakespeare and Cervantes. In the male line they were
hard-working, honest tradesmen, totally undistinguished even in their
sober walk in life. They came originally from Hainburg, where Haydn's
great-grandfather, Kaspar, had been among the few to escape massacre
when the town was stormed by the Turks in July 1683. The composer's
father, Matthias Haydn, was, like most of his brothers, a wheelwright,
combining with his trade the office of parish sexton. He belonged to the
better peasant class, and, though ignorant as we should now regard
him, was yet not without a tincture of artistic taste. He had been to
Frankfort during his "travelling years," and had there picked up some
little information of a miscellaneous kind. "He was a great lover of
music by nature," says his famous son, "and played the harp without
knowing a note of music." He had a fine tenor voice, and when the day's
toil was over he would gather his household around him and set them
singing to his well-meant accompaniment.

Haydn's Mother

It is rather a pretty picture that the imagination here conjures up,
but it does not help us very much in trying to account for the musical
genius of the composer. Even the popular idea that genius is derived
from the mother does not hold in Haydn's case. If Frau Haydn had a
genius for anything it was merely for moral excellence and religion and
the good management of her household. Like Leigh Hunt's mother, however,
she was "fond of music, and a gentle singer in her way"; and more than
one intimate of Haydn in his old age declared that he still knew by
heart all the simple airs which she had been wont to lilt about the
house. The maiden name of this estimable woman was Marie Koller. She was
a daughter of the Marktrichter (market judge), and had been a cook in
the family of Count Harrach, one of the local magnates. Eight years
younger than her husband, she was just twenty-one at her marriage, and
bore him twelve children. Haydn's regard for her was deep and sincere;
and it was one of the tricks of destiny that she was not spared to
witness more of his rising fame, being cut off in 1754, when she was
only forty-six. Matthias Haydn promptly married again, and had a second
family of five children, all of whom died in infancy. The stepmother
survived her husband—who died, as the result of an accident, in
1763—and then she too entered a second time into the wedded state.
Haydn can never have been very intimate with her, and he appears to have
lost sight of her entirely in her later years. But he bequeathed a small
sum to her in his will, "to be transferred to her children should she be
no longer alive."

Birth

Joseph Haydn, to give the composer the name which he now usually bears,
was the second of the twelve children born to the Rohrau wheelwright.
The exact date of his birth is uncertain, but it was either the 31st
of March or the 1st of April 1732. Haydn himself gave the latter as
the correct date, alleging that his brother Michael had fixed upon the
previous day to save him from being called an April fool! Probably we
shall not be far off the mark if we assume with Pohl that Haydn was born
in the night between the 31st of March and the 1st of April.

His Precocity

Very few details have come down to us in regard to his earlier
years; and such details as we have refer almost wholly to his musical
precocity. It was not such a precocity as that of Mozart, who was
playing minuets at the age of four, and writing concertos when he
was five; but just on that account it is all the more credible. One's
sympathies are with the frank Philistine who pooh-poohs the tales told
of baby composers, and hints that they must have been a trial to their
friends. Precocious they no doubt were; but precocity often evaporates
before it can become genius, leaving a sediment of disappointed hopes
and vain ambitions. In literature, as Mr Andrew Lang has well observed,
genius may show itself chiefly in acquisition, as in Sir Walter Scott,
who, as a boy, was packing all sorts of lore into a singularly capacious
mind, while doing next to nothing that was noticeable. In music it is
different. Various learning is not so important as a keenly sensitive
organism. The principal thing is emotion, duly ordered by the intellect,
not intellect touched by emotion. Haydn's precocity at any rate was of
this sort. It proclaimed itself in a quick impressionableness to sound,
a delicately-strung ear, and an acute perception of rhythm.

Informal Music-Making

We have seen how the father had his musical evenings with his harp and
the voices of wife and children. These informal rehearsals were
young Haydn's delight. We hear more particularly of his attempts at
music-making by sawing away upon a piece of stick at his father's side,
pretending to play the violin like the village schoolmaster under whom
he was now learning his rudiments. The parent was hugely pleased at
these manifestations of musical talent in his son. He had none of the
absurd, old-world ideas of Surgeon Handel as to the degrading character
of the divine art, but encouraged the youngster in every possible
way. Already he dreamt—what father of a clever boy has not done the
same?—that Joseph would in some way or other make the family name
famous; and although it is said that like his wife, he had notions of
the boy becoming a priest, he took the view that his progress towards
holy orders would be helped rather than hindered by the judicious
cultivation of his undoubted taste for music.

His First Teacher

While these thoughts were passing through his head, the chance visit of
a relation practically decided young Haydn's future. His grandmother,
being left a widow, had married a journeyman wheelwright, Matthias
Seefranz, and one of their children married a schoolmaster, Johann
Matthias Frankh. Frankh combined with the post of pedagogue that of
choir-regent at Hainburg, the ancestral home of the Haydns, some
four leagues from Rohrau. He came occasionally to Rohrau to see his
relatives, and one day he surprised Haydn keeping strict time to the
family music on his improvised fiddle. Some discussion following about
the boy's unmistakable talent, the schoolmaster generously offered to
take him to Hainburg that he might learn "the first elements of music
and other juvenile acquirements." The father was pleased; the mother,
hesitating at first, gave her reluctant approval, and Haydn left the
family home never to return, except on a flying visit. This was in 1738,
when he was six years of age.

Hainburg

The town of Hainburg lies close to the Danube, and looks very
picturesque with its old walls and towers. According to the Nibelungen
Lied, King Attila once spent a night in the place, and a stone figure
of that "scourge of God" forms a feature of the Hainburg Wiener Thor, a
rock rising abruptly from the river, crowned with the ruined Castle
of Rottenstein. The town cannot be very different from what it was in
Haydn's time, except perhaps that there is now a tobacco manufactory,
which gives employment to some 2000 hands.

It is affecting to think of the little fellow of six dragged away from
his home and his mother's watchful care to be planted down here among
strange surroundings and a strange people. That he was not very happy
we might have assumed in any case. But there were, unfortunately, some
things to render him more unhappy than he need have been. Frankh's
intentions were no doubt excellent; but neither in temper nor in
character was he a fit guardian and instructor of youth. He got into
trouble with the authorities more than once for neglect of his duties,
and had to answer a charge of gambling with loaded dice. As a teacher
he was of that stern disciplinarian kind which believes in lashing
instruction into the pupil with the "tingling rod." Haydn says he owed
him more cuffs than gingerbread.

"A Regular Little Urchin"

What he owed to the schoolmaster's wife may be inferred from the fact
that she compelled him to wear a wig "for the sake of cleanliness."
All his life through Haydn was most particular about his personal
appearance, and when quite an old man it pained him greatly to recall
the way in which he was neglected by Frau Frankh. "I could not help
perceiving," he remarked to Dies, "much to my distress, that I was
gradually getting very dirty, and though I thought a good deal of my
little person, was not always able to avoid spots of dirt on my clothes,
of which I was dreadfully ashamed. In fact, I was a regular little
urchin." Perhaps we should not be wrong in surmising that the old man
was here reading into his childhood the habits and sentiments of his
later years. Young boys of his class are not usually deeply concerned
about grease spots or disheveled hair.

Attacks the Drum

At all events, if deplorably neglected in these personal matters, he was
really making progress with his art. Under Frankh's tuition he attained
to some proficiency on the violin and the harpsichord, and his voice was
so improved that, as an early biographer puts it, he was able to "sing
at the parish desk in a style which spread his reputation through the
canton." Haydn himself, going back upon these days in a letter of 1779,
says: "Our Almighty Father (to whom above all I owe the most profound
gratitude) had endowed me with so much facility in music that even in my
sixth year I was bold enough to sing some masses in the choir." He was
bold enough to attempt something vastly more ponderous. A drummer
being wanted for a local procession, Haydn undertook to play the part.
Unluckily, he was so small of stature that the instrument had to be
carried before him on the back of a colleague! That the colleague
happened to be a hunchback only made the incident more ludicrous. But
Haydn had rather a partiality for the drum—a satisfying instrument,
as Mr George Meredith says, because of its rotundity—and, as we
shall learn when we come to his visits to London, he could handle the
instrument well enough to astonish the members of Salomon's orchestra.
According to Pohl, the particular instrument upon which he performed on
the occasion of the Hainburg procession is still preserved in the choir
of the church there.

Hard as these early years must have been, Haydn recognized in after-life
that good had mingled with the ill. His master's harshness had taught
him patience and self-reliance. "I shall be grateful to Frankh as long
as I live," he said to Griesinger, "for keeping me so hard at work."
He always referred to Frankh as "my first instructor," and, like Handel
with Zachau, he acknowledged his indebtedness in a practical way by
bequeathing to Frankh's daughter, then married, 100 florins and a
portrait of her father—a bequest which she missed by dying four years
before the composer himself.

A Piece of Good Fortune

Haydn had been two years with Frankh when an important piece of good
fortune befell him. At the time of which we are writing the Court
Capellmeister at Vienna was George Reutter, an inexhaustible composer
of church music, whose works, now completely forgotten, once had a great
vogue in all the choirs of the Imperial States. Even in 1823 Beethoven,
who was to write a mass for the Emperor Francis, was recommended to
adopt the style of this frilled and periwigged pedant! Reutter's father
had been for many years Capellmeister at St Stephen's Cathedral, Vienna,
and on his death, in 1738, the son succeeded to the post. He had not
been long established in the office when he started on a tour of search
for choristers. Arriving at Hainburg, he heard from the local pastor of
Haydn's "weak but pleasing voice," and immediately had the young singer
before him.

A Musical Examination

The story of the examination is rather amusing. Reutter gave the little
fellow a canon to sing at first sight. The boy went though the thing
triumphantly, and the delighted Reutter cried "Bravo!" as he flung a
handful of cherries into Haydn's cap. But there was one point on which
Reutter was not quite satisfied. "How is it, my little man," he said,
"that you cannot shake?" "How can you expect me to shake," replied the
enfant terrible, "when Herr Frankh himself cannot shake?" The great
man was immensely tickled by the ready retort, and, drawing the child
towards him, he taught him how to make the vibrations in his throat
required to produce the ornament. The boy picked up the trick at once.
It was the final decision of his fate. Reutter saw that here was a
recruit worth having, and he lost no time in getting the parents'
sanction to carry him off to Vienna. In the father's case this was
easily managed, but the mother only yielded when it was pointed out that
her son's singing in the cathedral choir did not necessarily mean the
frustration of her hopes of seeing him made a priest.

Goes to Vienna

Thus, some time in the year 1740, Reutter marched away from Hainburg
with the little Joseph, and Hainburg knew the little Joseph no more.
Vienna was now to be his home for ten long years of dreary pupilage
and genteel starvation. In those days, and for long after, St Stephen's
Cathedral was described as "the first church in the empire," and it is
still, with its magnificent spire, the most important edifice in Vienna.
Erected in 1258 and 1276 on the site of a church dating from 1144,
it was not finally completed until 1446. It is in the form of a Latin
cross, and is 355 feet long. The roof is covered with coloured tiles,
and the rich groined vaulting is borne by eighteen massive pillars,
adorned with more than a hundred statuettes. Since 1852 the building
has been thoroughly restored, but in all essentials it remains as it was
when Haydn sang in it as a choir-boy.

The Choir School of St Stephen's

Many interesting details have been printed regarding the Choir School
of St Stephen's and its routine in Haydn's time. They have been well
summarized by one of his biographers. [See Miss Townsend's Haydn, p. 9.]
The Cantorei was of very ancient foundation. Mention is made of it as
early as 1441, and its constitution may be gathered from directions
given regarding it about the period 1558-1571. It was newly constituted
in 1663, and many alterations were made then and afterwards, but in
Haydn's day it was still practically what it had been for nearly a
century before. The school consisted of a cantor (made Capellmeister
in 1663), a sub-cantor, two ushers and six scholars. They all resided
together, and had meals in common; and although ample allowance
had originally been made for the board, lodging and clothing of the
scholars, the increased cost of living resulted in the boys of Haydn's
time being poorly fed and scantily clad. They were instructed in
"religion and Latin, together with the ordinary subjects of school
education, and in music, the violin, clavier, and singing." The younger
scholars were taken in hand by those more advanced. The routine would
seem to us now to be somewhat severe. There were two full choral
services daily in the cathedral. Special Te Deums were constantly sung,
and the boys had to take part in the numerous solemn processions of
religious brotherhoods through the city, as well as in the services for
royal birthdays and other such occasions. During Holy Week the labours
of the choir were continuous. Children's processions were very frequent,
and Haydn's delight in after years at the performance of the charity
children in St Paul's may have been partly owing to the reminiscences of
early days which it awakened.

A House of Suffering

But these details are aside from our main theme. The chapel-house of St
Stephen's was now the home of our little Joseph. It ought to have been
a happy home of instruction, but it was, alas! a house of suffering.
Reutter did not devote even ordinary care to his pupil, and from casual
lessons in musical theory he drifted into complete neglect. Haydn
afterwards declared that he had never had more than two lessons in
composition from Reutter, who was, moreover, harsh and cruel and
unfeeling, laughing at his pupil's groping attempts, and chastising him
on the slightest pretext. It has been hinted that the Capellmeister was
jealous of his young charge—that he was "afraid of finding a rival in
the pupil." But this is highly improbable. Haydn had not as yet shown
any unusual gifts likely to excite the envy of his superior. There is
more probability in the other suggestion that Reutter was piqued at not
having been allowed by Haydn's father to perpetuate the boy's fine voice
by the ancient method of emasculation. The point, in any case, is not
of very much importance. It is sufficient to observe that Reutter's name
survives mainly in virtue of the fact that he tempted Haydn to Vienna
with the promise of special instruction, and gave him practically
nothing of that, but a great deal of ill-usage.

Lessons at St Stephen's

Haydn was supposed to have lessons from two undistinguished professors
named Gegenbauer and Finsterbusch. But it all amounted to very little.
There was the regular drilling for the church services, to be sure:
solfeggi and psalms, psalms and solfeggi—always apt to degenerate,
under a pedant, into the dreariest of mechanical routine. How many a
sweet-voiced chorister, even in our own days, reaches manhood with a
love for music? It needs music in his soul. Haydn's soul withstood the
numbing influence of pedantry. He realized that it lay with himself
to develop and nurture the powers within his breast of which he was
conscious. "The talent was in me," he remarked, "and by dint of hard
work I managed to get on." Shortly before his death, when he happened to
be in Vienna for some church festival, he had an opportunity of speaking
to the choir-boys of that time. "I was once a singing boy," he said.
"Reutter brought me from Hainburg to Vienna. I was industrious when my
companions were at play. I used to take my little clavier under my arm,
and go off to practice undisturbed. When I sang a solo, the baker near
St Stephen's yonder always gave me a cake as a present. Be good and
industrious, and serve God continually."

A Sixteen-Part Mass!

It is pathetic to think of the boy assiduously scratching innumerable
notes on scraps of music paper, striving with yet imperfect knowledge
to express himself, and hoping that by some miracle of inspiration
something like music might come out of it. "I thought it must be all
right if the paper was nice and full," he said. He even went the length
of trying to write a mass in sixteen parts—an effort which Reutter
rewarded with a shrug and a sneer, and the sarcastic suggestion that for
the present two parts might be deemed sufficient, and that he had better
perfect his copying of music before trying to compose it. But Haydn was
not to be snubbed and snuffed out in this way. He appealed to his father
for money to buy some theory books. There was not too much money at
Rohrau, we may be sure, for the family was always increasing, and petty
economies were necessary. But the wheelwright managed to send the boy
six florins, and that sum was immediately expended on Fux's Gradus
ad Parnassum and Mattheson's Volkommener Capellmeister—heavy, dry
treatises both, which have long since gone to the musical antiquary's
top shelf among the dust and the cobwebs. These "dull and verbose
dampers to enthusiasm" Haydn made his constant companions, in default of
a living instructor, and, like Longfellow's "great men," toiled upwards
in the night, while less industrious mortals snored.

Juvenile Escapades

Meanwhile his native exuberance and cheerfulness of soul were
irrepressible. Several stories are told of the schoolboy escapades he
enjoyed with his fellow choristers. One will suffice here. He used to
boast that he had sung with success at Court as well as in St Stephen's.
This meant that he had made one of the choir when visits were paid to
the Palace of Schonbrunn, where the Empress Maria and her Court resided.
On the occasion of one of these visits the palace was in the hands of
the builders, and the scaffolding presented the usual temptation to the
youngsters. "The empress," to quote Pohl, "had caught them climbing it
many a time, but her threats and prohibitions had no effect. One day
when Haydn was balancing himself aloft, far above his schoolfellows,
the empress saw him from the windows, and requested her Hofcompositor to
take care that 'that fair-headed blockhead,' the ringleader of them all,
got 'einen recenten Schilling' (slang for 'a good hiding')." The command
was only too willingly obeyed by the obsequious Reutter, who by this
time had been ennobled, and rejoiced in the addition of "von" to his
name. Many years afterwards, when the empress was on a visit to Prince
Esterhazy, the "fair-headed blockhead" took the cruel delight of
thanking her for this rather questionable mark of Imperial favour!

"Sang like a Crow"

As a matter of fact, the empress, however she may have thought of Haydn
the man, showed herself anything but considerate to Haydn the choir-boy.
The future composer's younger brother, Michael, had now arrived in
Vienna, and had been admitted to the St Stephen's choir. His voice is
said to have been "stronger and of better quality" than Joseph's, which
had almost reached the "breaking" stage; and the empress, complaining to
Reutter that Joseph "sang like a crow," the complacent choirmaster put
Michael in his place. The empress was so pleased with the change that
she personally complimented Michael, and made him a present of 24
ducats.

Dismissed from St Stephen's

One thing leads to another. Reutter, it is obvious, did not like Haydn,
and any opportunity of playing toady to the empress was too good to
be lost. Unfortunately Haydn himself provided the opportunity. Having
become possessed of a new pair of scissors, he was itching to try their
quality. The pig-tail of the chorister sitting before him offered an
irresistible attraction; one snip and lo! the plaited hair lay at his
feet. Discipline must be maintained; and Reutter sentenced the culprit
to be caned on the hand. This was too great an indignity for poor
Joseph, by this time a youth of seventeen—old enough, one would have
thought, to have forsworn such boyish mischief. He declared that
he would rather leave the cathedral service than submit. "You shall
certainly leave," retorted the Capellmeister, "but you must be caned
first." And so, having received his caning, Haydn was sent adrift on
the streets of Vienna, a broken-voiced chorister, without a coin in
his pocket, and with only poverty staring him in the face. This was in
November 1749.

The Vienna into which Haydn was thus cast, a friendless and forlorn
youth of seventeen, was not materially different from the Vienna of
to-day. While the composer was still living, one who had made his
acquaintance wrote of the city: "Represent to yourself an assemblage of
palaces and very neat houses, inhabited by the most opulent families of
one of the greatest monarchies in Europe—by the only noblemen to
whom that title may still be with justice applied. The women here are
attractive; a brilliant complexion adorns an elegant form; the natural
but sometimes languishing and tiresome air of the ladies of the north of
Germany is mingled with a little coquetry and address, the effect of the
presence of a numerous Court...In a word, pleasure has taken possession
of every heart." This was written when Haydn was old and famous; it
might have been written when his name was yet unknown.

Vienna was essentially a city of pleasure—a city inhabited by "a proud
and wealthy nobility, a prosperous middle class, and a silent, if not
contented, lower class." In 1768, Leopold Mozart, the father of the
composer, declared that the Viennese public had no love of anything
serious or sensible; "they cannot even understand it, and their theatres
furnish abundant proof that nothing but utter trash, such as dances,
burlesques, harlequinades, ghost tricks, and devils' antics will go down
with them." There is, no doubt, a touch of exaggeration in all this,
but it is sufficiently near the truth to let us understand the kind of
attention which the disgraced chorister of St Stephen's was likely to
receive from the musical world of Vienna. It was Vienna, we may recall,
which dumped Mozart into a pauper's grave, and omitted even to mark the
spot.

The Forlorn Ex-Chorister

Young Haydn, then, was wandering, weary and perplexed, through its
streets, with threadbare clothes on his back and nothing in his purse.
There was absolutely no one to whom he could think of turning. He might,
indeed, have taken the road to Rohrau and been sure of a warm welcome
from his humble parents there. But there were good reasons why he should
not make himself a burden on them; and, moreover, he probably feared
that at home he would run some risk of being tempted to abandon his
cherished profession. Frau Haydn had not yet given up the hope of seeing
her boy made a priest, and though we have no definite information that
Haydn himself felt a decided aversion to taking orders, it is evident
that he was disinclined to hazard the danger of domestic pressure. He
had now finally made up his mind that he would be a composer; but he saw
clearly enough that, for the present, he must work, and work, too, not
for fame, but for bread.

A Good Samaritan

Musing on these things while still parading the streets, tired and
hungry, he met one Spangler, a tenor singer of his acquaintance, who
earned a pittance at the Church of St Michael. Spangler was a poor
man—but it is ever the poor who are most helpful to each other—and,
taking pity on the dejected outcast, he invited Haydn to share his
garret rooms along with his wife and child. It is regrettable that
nothing more is known of this good Samaritan—one of those obscure
benefactors who go through the world doing little acts of kindness,
never perhaps even suspecting how far-reaching will be the results. He
must have died before Haydn, otherwise his name would certainly have
appeared in his will.

Haydn Enskied

Haydn remained with Spangler in that "ghastly garret" all through the
winter of 1749-1750. He has been commiserated on the garret—needlessly,
to be sure. Garrets are famous, in literary annals at any rate; and is
it not Leigh Hunt who reminds us that the top story is healthier than
the basement? The poor poet in Pope, who lay high in Drury Lane, "lull'd
by soft zephyrs through the broken pane," found profit, doubtless,
in his "neighbourhood with the stars." However that may be, there, in
Spangler's attic, was Haydn enskied, eager for work—work of any kind,
so long as it had fellowship with music and brought him the bare means
of subsistence.

"Scanning his whole horizon
In quest of what he could clap eyes on,"

he sought any and every means of making money. He tried to get teaching,
with what success has not been recorded. He sang in choirs, played at
balls and weddings and baptisms, made "arrangements" for anybody who
would employ him, and in short drudged very much as Wagner did at the
outset of his tempestuous career.

Street Serenades

He even took part in street serenades by playing the violin. This last
was not a very dignified occupation; but it is important to remember
that serenading in Vienna was not the lover's business of Italy and
Spain, where the singer is accompanied by guitar or mandoline. It was a
much more serious entertainment. It dated from the seventeenth century,
if we are to trust Praetorius, and consisted of solos and concerted
vocal music in various forms, accompanied sometimes by full orchestra
and sometimes by wind instruments alone. Great composers occasionally
honoured their patrons and friends with the serenade; and composers who
hoped to be great found it advantageous as a means of gaining a hearing
for their works. It proved of some real service to Haydn later on, but
in the meantime it does not appear to have swelled his lean purse. With
all his industry he fell into the direst straits now and again, and was
more than once driven into wild projects by sheer stress of hunger.

Joins a Pilgrim Party

One curious story is told of a journey to Mariazell, in Styria.
This picturesquely-situated village has been for many years the most
frequented shrine in Austria. To-day it is said to be visited by
something like 100,000 pilgrims every year. The object of adoration
is the miraculous image of the Madonna and Child, twenty inches high,
carved in lime-wood, which was presented to the Mother Church of
Mariazell in 1157 by a Benedictine priest. Haydn was a devout Catholic,
and not improbably knew all about Mariazell and its Madonna. At any
rate, he joined a company of pilgrims, and on arrival presented himself
to the local choirmaster for admission, showing the official some of his
compositions, and telling of his eight years' training at St Stephen's.
The choirmaster was not impressed. "I have had enough of lazy rascals
from Vienna," said he. "Be off!" But Haydn, after coming so far, was not
to be dismissed so unceremoniously. He smuggled himself into the choir,
pleaded with the solo singer of the day to be allowed to act as his
deputy, and, when this was refused, snatched the music from the singer's
hand, and took up the solo at the right moment with such success that
"all the choir held their breath to listen." At the close of the service
the choirmaster sent for him, and, apologizing for his previous rude
behaviour, invited him to his house for the day. The invitation extended
to a week, and Haydn returned to Vienna with money enough—the result of
a subscription among the choir—to serve his immediate needs.

An Unconditional Loan

But it would have been strange if, in a musical city like Vienna, a
youth of Haydn's gifts had been allowed to starve. Slowly but surely he
made his way, and people who could help began to hear of him. The most
notable of his benefactors at this time was a worthy tradesman named
Buchholz, who made him an unconditional loan of 150 florins. An echo of
this unexpected favour is heard long years after in the composer's will,
where we read: "To Fraulein Anna Buchholz, 100 florins, inasmuch as in
my youth her grandfather lent me 150 florins when I greatly needed them,
which, however, I repaid fifty years ago."

"Attic" Studies

One hundred and fifty florins was no great sum assuredly, but at this
time it was a small fortune to Haydn. He was able to do a good many
things with it. First of all, he took a lodging for himself—another
attic! Spangler had been very kind, but he could not give the young
musician the privacy needed for study. It chanced that there was a room
vacant, "nigh to the gods and the clouds," in the old Michaelerhaus
in the Kohlmarkt, and Haydn rented it. It was not a very comfortable
room—just big enough to allow the poor composer to turn about. It was
dimly lighted. It "contained no stove, and the roof was in such bad
repair that the rain and the snow made unceremonious entry and drenched
the young artist in his bed. In winter the water in his jug froze so
hard during the night that he had to go and draw direct from the well."
For neighbours he had successively a journeyman printer, a footman and
a cook. These were not likely to respect his desire for quiet, but the
mere fact of his having a room all to himself made him oblivious of
external annoyances. As he expressed it, he was "too happy to envy the
lot of kings." He had his old, worm-eaten spinet, and his health and his
good spirits; and although he was still poor and unknown, he was "making
himself all the time," like Sir Walter Scott in Liddesdale.

An Early Composition

Needless to say, he was composing a great deal. Much of his manuscript
was, of course, torn up or consigned to the flames, but one piece
of work survived. This was his first Mass in F (No. 11 in Novello's
edition), erroneously dated by some writers 1742. It shows signs of
immaturity and inexperience, but when Haydn in his old age came upon the
long-forgotten score he was so far from being displeased with it that
he rearranged the music, inserting additional wind parts. One biographer
sees in this procedure "a striking testimony to the genius of the lad
of eighteen." We need not read it in that way. It rather shows a natural
human tenderness for his first work, a weakness, some might call it,
but even so, more pardonable than the weakness—well illustrated by some
later instances—of hunting out early productions and publishing them
without a touch of revision.

Metastasio

It was presumably by mere chance that in that same rickety Michaelerhaus
there lived at this date not only the future composer of "The Creation,"
but the Scribe of the eighteenth century, the poet and opera librettist,
Metastasio. Born in 1698, the son of humble parents, this distinguished
writer had, like Haydn, suffered from "the eternal want of pence." A
precocious boy, he had improvised verses and recited them on the street,
and fame came to him only after long and weary years of waiting. In 1729
he was appointed Court poet to the theatre at Vienna, for which he wrote
several of his best pieces, and when he made Haydn's acquaintance his
reputation was high throughout the whole of Europe. Naturally, he
did not live so near the clouds as Haydn—his rooms were on the third
story—but he heard somehow of the friendless, penniless youth in the
attic, and immediately resolved to do what he could to further his
interests. This, as events proved, was by no means inconsiderable.

A Noble Pupil

Metastasio had been entrusted with the education of Marianne von
Martinez, the daughter of a Spanish gentleman who was Master of
the Ceremonies to the Apostolic Nuncio. The young lady required a
musicmaster, and the poet engaged Haydn to teach her the harpsichord, in
return for which service he was to receive free board. Fraulein Martinez
became something of a musical celebrity. When she was only seventeen she
had a mass performed at St Michael's Church, Vienna. She was a favourite
of the Empress Maria Theresa, and is extolled by Burney—who speaks of
her "marvelous accuracy" in the writing of English—as a singer and a
player, almost as highly as Gluck's niece. Her name finds a place in the
biographies of Mozart, who, at her musical receptions, used to take part
with her in duets of her own composition. Several of her manuscripts are
still in the possession of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde. Something
of her musical distinction ought certainly to be attributed to Haydn,
who gave her daily lessons for three years, during which time he was
comfortably housed with the family.

Porpora

It was through Metastasio, too, that he was introduced to Niccolo
Porpora, the famous singing-master who taught the great Farinelli,
and whose name is sufficiently familiar from its connection with an
undertaking set on foot by Handel's enemies in London. Porpora seems
at this time to have ruled Vienna as a sort of musical director and
privileged censor, to have been, in fact, what Rossini was for many
years in Paris. He was giving lessons to the mistress of Correr, the
Venetian ambassador—a "rare musical enthusiast"—and he employed Haydn
to act as accompanist during the lessons.

Menial Duties

We get a curious insight into the social conditions of the musicians of
this time in the bearing of Haydn towards Porpora and his pupil. That
Haydn should become the instructor of Fraulein Martinez in no way
compromised his dignity; nor can any reasonable objection be raised
against his filling the post of, accompanist to the ambassador's
mistress. But what shall be said of his being transported to the
ambassador's summer quarters at Mannersdorf, and doing duty there for
six ducats a month and his board—at the servants' table? The reverend
author of Music and Morals answers by reminding us that in those days
musicians were not the confidential advisers of kings like Wagner, rich
banker's sons like Meyerbeer, private gentlemen like Mendelssohn, and
members of the Imperial Parliament like Verdi. They were "poor devils"
like Haydn. Porpora was a great man, no doubt, in his own metier. But it
is surely odd to hear of Haydn acting the part of very humble servant
to the singing-master; blackening his boots and trimming his wig,
and brushing his coat, and running his errands, and playing his
accompaniments! Let us, however, remember Haydn's position and
circumstances. He was a poor man. He had never received any regular
tuition such as Handel received from Zachau, Mozart from his father, and
Mendelssohn from Zelter. He had to pick up his instruction as he went
along; and if he felt constrained to play the lackey to Porpora, it was
only with the object of receiving in return something which would help
to fit him for his profession. As he naively said, "I improved greatly
in singing, composition, and Italian." [The relations of Haydn and
Porpora are sketched in George Sand's "Consuelo."]

Emanuel Bach

In the meantime he was carrying on his private studies with the greatest
assiduity. His Fux and his Mattheson had served their turn, and he
had now supplemented them by the first six Clavier Sonatas of Philipp
Emanuel Bach, the third son of the great composer. The choice may seem
curious when we remember that Haydn had at his hand all the music of
Handel and Bach, and the masters of the old contrapuntal school. But it
was wisely made. The simple, well-balanced form of Emanuel Bach's works
"acted as well as a master's guidance upon him, and led him to the first
steps in that style of writing which was afterwards one of his greatest
glories." The point is admirably put by Sir Hubert Parry. He says, in
effect, that what Haydn had to build upon, and what was most congenial
to him, through his origin and circumstances, was the popular songs and
dances of his native land, which, in the matter of structure, belong to
the same order of art as symphonies and sonatas; and how this kind of
music could be made on a grander scale was what he wanted to discover.
The music of Handel and Bach leaned too much towards the style of the
choral music and organ music of the church to serve him as a model. For
their art was essentially contrapuntal—the combination of several parts
each of equal importance with the rest, each in a sense pursuing its own
course. In modern music the essential principle is harmonic: the
chords formed by the combination of parts are derived and developed in
reference to roots and keys. In national dances few harmonies are used,
but they are arranged on the same principles as the harmonies of a
sonata or a symphony; and "what had to be found out in order to make
grand instrumental works was how to arrange more harmonies with the same
effect of unity as is obtained on a small scale in dances and national
songs." Haydn, whose music contains many reminiscences of popular
folk-song, had in him the instinct for this kind of art; and the study
of Philipp Emanuel's works taught him how to direct his energies in the
way that was most agreeable to him.

A Disciple of Emanuel Bach

Although much has been written about Emanuel Bach, it is probable that
the full extent of his genius remains yet to be recognized. He was the
greatest clavier player, teacher and accompanist of his day; a master
of form, and the pioneer of a style which was a complete departure from
that of his father. Haydn's enthusiasm for him can easily be explained.
"I did not leave the clavier till I had mastered all his six sonatas,"
he says, "and those who know me well must be aware that I owe very much
to Emanuel Bach, whose works I understand and have thoroughly studied.
Emanuel Bach himself once complimented me on this fact." When Haydn
began to make a name Bach hailed him with delight as a disciple,
and took occasion to send him word that, "he alone had thoroughly
comprehended his works and made a proper use of them."

This is a sufficient answer to the absurd statement which has been made,
and is still sometimes repeated, that Bach was jealous of the young
composer and abused him to his friends. A writer in the European
Magazine for October 1784, says that Bach was "amongst the number of
professors who wrote against our rising author." He mentions others as
doing the same thing, and then continues: "The only notice Haydn took of
their scurrility and abuse was to publish lessons written in imitation
of the several styles of his enemies, in which their peculiarities were
so closely copied and their extraneous passages (particularly those
of Bach of Hamburg) so inimitably burlesqued, that they all felt the
poignancy of his musical wit, confessed its truth, and were silent."
Further on we read that the sonatas of Ops. 13 and 14 were "expressly
composed in order to ridicule Bach of Hamburg." All this is manifestly
a pure invention. Many of the peculiarities of Emanuel Bach's style are
certainly to be found in Haydn's works—notes wide apart, pause bars,
surprise modulations, etc., etc.—but if every young composer who adopts
the tricks of his model is to be charged with caricature, few can hope
to escape. The truth is, of course, that every man's style, whether in
music or in writing, is a "mingled yarn" of many strands, and it serves
no good purpose to unravel it, even if we could.

Violin Studies

Haydn's chief instrument was the clavier, but in addition to that
he diligently practiced the violin. It was at this date that he took
lessons on the latter instrument from "a celebrated virtuoso." The name
is not mentioned, but the general opinion is that Dittersdorf was the
instructor. This eminent musician obtained a situation as violinist in
the Court Orchestra at Vienna in 1760; and, curiously enough, after many
years of professional activity, succeeded Haydn's brother, Michael,
as Capellmeister to the Bishop of Groswardein in Hungary. He wrote an
incredible amount of music, and his opera, "Doctor and Apotheker," by
which he eclipsed Mozart at one time, has survived up to the present.
Whether or not he gave Haydn lessons on the violin, it is certain that
the pair became intimate friends, and had many happy days and some
practical jokes together. One story connected with their names sounds
apocryphal, but there is no harm in quoting it. Haydn and Dittersdorf
were strolling down a back street when they heard a fiddler scraping
away in a little beer cellar. Haydn, entering, inquired, "Whose minuet
is that you are playing?" "Haydn's," answered the fiddler. "It's a—bad
minuet," replied Haydn, whereupon the enraged player turned upon him and
would have broken his head with the fiddle had not Dittersdorf dragged
him away.

Attempts at Programme Music

It seems to have been about this time—the date, in fact, was 1751—that
Haydn, still pursuing his serenading practices, directed a performance
of a quintet of his own composition under the windows of Felix Kurz, a
well-known Viennese comedian and theatrical manager. According to an
old writer, Kurz amused the public by his puns, and drew crowds to his
theatre by his originality and by good opera-buffas. He had, moreover,
a handsome wife, and "this was an additional reason for our nocturnal
adventurers to go and perform their serenades under the harlequin's
windows." The comedian was naturally flattered by Haydn's attention. He
heard the music, and, liking it, called the composer into the house to
show his skill on the clavier. Kurz appears to have been an admirer of
what we would call "programme" music. At all events he demanded that
Haydn should give him a musical representation of a storm at sea.
Unfortunately, Haydn had never set eyes on the "mighty monster," and was
hard put to it to describe what he knew nothing about. He made several
attempts to satisfy Kurz, but without success. At last, out of all
patience, he extended his hands to the two ends of the harpsichord,
and, bringing them rapidly together, exclaimed, as he rose from the
instrument, "The devil take the tempest." "That's it! That's it!" cried
the harlequin, springing upon his neck and almost suffocating him. Haydn
used to say that when he crossed the Straits of Dover in bad weather,
many years afterwards, he often smiled to himself as he thought of the
juvenile trick which so delighted the Viennese comedian.

His First Opera

But the comedian wanted more from Haydn than a tempest on the keyboard.
He had written the libretto of an opera, "Der Neue Krumme Teufel," and
desired that Haydn should set it to music. The chance was too good to
be thrown away, and Haydn proceeded to execute the commission with
alacrity, not a little stimulated, doubtless, by the promise of 24
ducats for the work. There is a playfulness and buoyancy about much
of Haydn's music which seems to suggest that he might have succeeded
admirably in comic opera, and it is really to be regretted that while
the words of "Der Neue Krumme Teufel" have been preserved, the music has
been lost. It would have been interesting to see what the young
composer had made of a subject which—from Le Sage's "Le Diable Boiteux"
onwards—has engaged the attention of so many playwrights and musicians.
The opera was produced at the Stadt Theatre in the spring of 1752,
and was frequently repeated not only in Vienna, but in Berlin, Prague,
Saxony and the Breisgau.

An Aristocratic Appointment

An event of this kind must have done something for Haydn's reputation,
which was now rapidly extending. Porpora seems also to have been of
no small service to him in the way of introducing him to aristocratic
acquaintances. At any rate, in 1755, a wealthy musical amateur, the
Baron von Furnberg, who frequently gave concerts at his country house
at Weinzierl, near Vienna, invited him to take the direction of these
performances and compose for their programmes. It was for this nobleman
that he wrote his first string quartet, the one in B flat beginning—

[figure: a musical score excerpt]

This composition was rapidly followed by seventeen other works of the
same class, all written between 1755 and 1756.

Taken for an Impostor

Haydn's connection with Furnberg and the success of his compositions
for that nobleman at once gave him a distinction among the musicians and
dilettanti of Vienna. He now felt justified in increasing his fees,
and charged from 2 to 5 florins for a month's lessons. Remembering the
legend of his unboylike fastidiousness, and the undoubted nattiness
of his later years, it is curious to come upon an incident of directly
opposite tendency. A certain Countess von Thun, whose name is associated
with Beethoven, Mozart and Gluck, met with one of his clavier sonatas
in manuscript, and expressed a desire to see him. When Haydn presented
himself, the countess was so struck by his shabby appearance and uncouth
manners that it occurred to her he must be an impostor! But Haydn soon
removed her doubts by the pathetic and realistic account which he gave
of his lowly origin and his struggles with poverty, and the countess
ended by becoming his pupil and one of his warmest friends.

A Count's Capellmeister

Haydn is said to have held for a time the post of organist to the Count
Haugwitz; but his first authenticated fixed engagement dates from
1759, when, through the influence of Baron Furnberg, he was appointed
Capellmeister to the Bohemian Count Morzin. This nobleman, whose country
house was at Lukavec, near Pilsen, was a great lover of music, and
maintained a small, well-chosen orchestra of some sixteen or eighteen
performers. It was for him that Haydn wrote his first Symphony in D—

[Figure: a musical score excerpt]

Falls in Love

We now approach an interesting event in Haydn's career. In the course of
some banter at the house of Rogers, Campbell the poet once remarked that
marriage in nine cases out of ten looks like madness. Haydn's case was
not the tenth. His salary from Count Morzin was only 20 pounds with
board and lodging; he was not making anything substantial by his
compositions; and his teaching could not have brought him a large
return. Yet, with the proverbial rashness of his class, he must needs
take a wife, and that, too, in spite, of the fact that Count Morzin
never kept a married man in his service! "To my mind," said Mozart,
"a bachelor lives only half a life." It is true enough; but Mozart had
little reason to bless the "better half," while Haydn had less. The lady
with whom he originally proposed to brave the future was one of his own
pupils—the younger of the two daughters of Barber Keller, to whom he
had been introduced when he was a chorister at St Stephen's. According
to Dies, Haydn had lodged with the Kellers at one time. The statement is
doubtful, but in any case his good stars were not in the ascendant when
it was ordained that he should marry into this family.

Marries

It was, as we have said, with the younger of the two daughters that he
fell in love. Unfortunately, for some unexplained reason, she took the
veil, and said good-bye to a wicked world. Like the hero in "Locksley
Hall," Haydn may have asked himself, "What is that which I should do?"
But Keller soon solved the problem for him. "Barbers are not the most
diffident people of the world," as one of the race remarks in "Gil
Blas," and Keller was assuredly not diffident. "Never mind," he said to
Haydn, "you shall have the other." Haydn very likely did not want the
other, but, recognizing with Dr Holmes's fashionable lady that "getting
married is like jumping overboard anyway you look at it," he resolved to
risk it and take Anna Maria Keller for better or worse.

His Wife

The marriage was solemnized at St Stephen's on November 26, 1760, when
the bridegroom was twenty-nine and the bride thirty-two. There does not
seem to have been much affection on either side to start with; but Haydn
declared that he had really begun to "like" his wife, and would have
come to entertain a stronger feeling for her if she had behaved in a
reasonable way. It was, however, not in Anna Maria's nature to behave in
a reasonable way. The diverting Marville says that the majority of women
married to men of genius are so vain of the abilities of their husbands
that they are frequently insufferable. Frau Haydn was not a woman of
that kind. As Haydn himself sadly remarked, it did not matter to her
whether he were a cobbler or an artist. She used his manuscript scores
for curling papers and underlays for the pastry, and wrote to him when
he was in England for money to buy a "widow's home." He was even driven
to pitifully undignified expedients to protect his hard-earned cash from
her extravagant hands.

There are not many details of Anna Maria's behaviour, for Haydn was
discreetly reticent about his domestic affairs; and only two references
can be found in all his published correspondence to the woman who had
rendered his life miserable. But these anecdotes tell us enough. For a
long time he tried making the best of it; but making the best of it is
a poor affair when it comes to a man and woman living together, and the
day arrived when the composer realized that to live entirely apart was
the only way of ending a union that had proved anything but a foretaste
of heaven. Frau Haydn looked to spend her last years in a "widow's home"
provided for her by the generosity of her husband, but she predeceased
him by nine years, dying at Baden, near Vienna, on the 20th of March
1800. With this simple statement of facts we may finally dismiss a
matter that is best left to silence—to where "beyond these voices there
is peace."

Whether Count Morzin would have retained the services of Haydn in spite
of his marriage is uncertain. The question was not put to the test, for
the count fell into financial embarrassments and had to discharge his
musical establishment. A short time before this, Prince Paul Anton
Esterhazy had heard some of Haydn's compositions when on a visit to
Morzin, and, being favourably impressed thereby, he resolved to engage
Haydn should an opportunity ever present itself. The opportunity had
come, and Haydn entered the service of a family who were practically
his life-long patrons, and with whom his name must always be intimately
associated.

CHAPTER III. EISENSTADT—1761-1766

The Esterhazy Family—Haydn's Agreement—An "Upper Servant"?—Dependence
in the Order of Nature—Material and Artistic Advantages of the
Esterhazy Appointment—Some Disadvantages—Capellmeister Werner—A
Posthumous Tribute—Esterhazy "The Magnificent"—Compositions for
Baryton—A Reproval—Operettas and other Occasional Works—First
Symphonies.

The Esterhazy Family

As Haydn served the Esterhazys uninterruptedly for the long period of
thirty years, a word or two about this distinguished family will not
be out of place. At the present time the Esterhazy estates include
twenty-nine lordships, with twenty-one castles, sixty market towns, and
414 villages in Hungary, besides lordships in Lower Austria and a county
in Bavaria. This alone will give some idea of the power and importance
of the house to which Haydn was attached. The family was divided into
three main branches, but it is with the Frakno or Forchtenstein line
that we are more immediately concerned. Count Paul Esterhazy of Frakno
(1635-1713) served in the Austrian army with such distinction as to gain
a field-marshal's baton at the age of thirty. He was the first prince
of the name, having been ennobled in 1687 for his successes against the
Turks and his support of the House of Hapsburg. He was a musical amateur
and a performer of some ability, and it was to him that the family owed
the existence of the Esterhazy private chapel, with its solo singers,
its chorus, and its orchestra. Indeed, it was this prince who, in 1683,
built the splendid Palace of Eisenstadt, at the foot of the Leitha
mountains, in Hungary, where Haydn was to spend so many and such
momentous years.

When Prince Paul died in 1713, he was succeeded by his son, Joseph
Anton, who acquired "enormous wealth," and raised the Esterhazy family
to "the height of its glory." This nobleman's son, Paul Anton, was the
reigning prince when Haydn was called to Eisenstadt in 1761. He was a
man of fifty, and had already a brilliant career behind him. Twice
in the course of the Seven Years' War he had "equipped and maintained
during a whole campaign a complete regiment of hussars for the service
of his royal mistress," and, like his distinguished ancestor, he had
been elevated to the dignity of field-marshal. He was passionately
devoted to the fine arts, more particularly to music, and played the
violin with eminent skill. Under his reign the musical establishment
at Eisenstadt enjoyed a prosperity unknown at any other period of its
history.

Haydn's Agreement

As there will be something to say about the terms and nature of Haydn's
engagement with Prince Paul Anton, it may be well to quote the text of
the agreement which he was required to sign. It was in these terms:

FORM OF AGREEMENT AND INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE VICE-CAPELLMEISTER

"This day (according to the date hereto appended) Joseph Heyden
[sic] native of Rohrau, in Austria, is accepted and appointed
Vice-Capellmeister in the service of his Serene Highness, Paul Anton,
Prince of the Holy Roman Empire, of Esterhazy and Galantha, etc., etc.,
with the conditions here following:

"1st. Seeing that the Capellmeister at Eisenstadt, by name Gregorius
Werner, having devoted many years of true and faithful service to the
princely house, is now, on account of his great age and infirmities,
unfit to perform the duties incumbent on him, therefore the said
Gregorious Werner, in consideration of his long services, shall
retain the post of Capellmeister, and the said Joseph Heyden as
Vice-Capellmeister shall, as far as regards the music of the choir, be
subordinate to the Capellmeister and receive his instructions. But
in everything else relating to musical performances, and in all that
concerns the orchestra, the Vice-Capellmeister shall have the sole
direction.

"2nd. The said Joseph Heyden shall be considered and treated as a member
of the household. Therefore his Serene Highness is graciously pleased
to place confidence in his conducting himself as becomes an honourable
official of a princely house. He must be temperate, not showing himself
overbearing towards his musicians, but mild and lenient, straightforward
and composed. It is especially to be observed that when the orchestra
shall be summoned to perform before company, the Vice-Capellmeister and
all the musicians shall appear in uniform, and the said Joseph Heyden
shall take care that he and all members of his orchestra do follow
the instructions given, and appear in white stockings, white linen,
powdered, and either with a pig-tail or a tie-wig.

"3rd. Seeing that the other musicians are referred for directions to
the said Vice-Capellmeister, therefore he should take the more care
to conduct himself in an exemplary manner, abstaining from undue
familiarity, and from vulgarity in eating, drinking and conversation,
not dispensing with the respect due to him, but acting uprightly and
influencing his subordinates to preserve such harmony as is becoming
in them, remembering how displeasing the consequences of any discord or
dispute would be to his Serene Highness.

"4th. The said Vice-Capellmeister shall be under an obligation to
compose such music as his Serene Highness may command, and neither to
communicate such compositions to any other person, nor to allow them to
be copied, but to retain them for the absolute use of his Highness, and
not to compose anything for any other person without the knowledge and
permission of his Highness.

"5th. The said Joseph Heyden shall appear in the ante-chamber daily,
before and after mid-day, and inquire whether his Highness is pleased
to order a performance of the orchestra. After receipt of his orders be
shall communicate them to the other musicians and shall take care to
be punctual at the appointed time, and to ensure punctuality in
his subordinates, making a note of those who arrive late or absent
themselves altogether.

"6th. Should any quarrel or cause of complaint arise, the
Vice-Capellmeister shall endeavour to arrange it, in order that his
Serene Highness may not be incommoded with trifling disputes; but should
any more serious difficulty occur, which the said Joseph Heyden is
unable to set right, his Serene Highness must then be respectfully
called upon to decide the matter.

"7th. The said Vice-Capellmeister shall take careful charge of all music
and musical instruments, and shall be responsible for any injury that
may occur to them from carelessness or neglect.

"8th. The said Joseph Heyden shall be obliged to instruct the female
vocalists, in order that they may not forget in the country what they
had been taught with much trouble and expense in Vienna, and, as the
said Vice-Capellmeister is proficient on various instruments, he shall
take care to practice himself on all that he is acquainted with.

"9th. A copy of this agreement and instructions shall be given to the
said Vice-Capellmeister and to his subordinates, in order that he may be
able to hold them to their obligations therein laid down.

"10th. It is considered unnecessary to detail the services required of
the said Joseph Heyden more particularly, since his Serene Highness is
pleased to hope that he will of his own free will strictly observe not
only these regulations, but all others that may from time to time be
made by his Highness, and that he will place the orchestra on such a
footing, and in such good order, that he may bring honour upon himself,
and deserve the further favour of the Prince, his master, who thus
confides in his zeal and discretion.

"11th. A salary of four hundred florins to be received quarterly is
hereby bestowed upon the said Vice-Capellmeister by his Serene Highness.

"12th. In addition, the said Joseph Heyden shall have board at the
officers' table, or half a gulden a day in lieu thereof.

"13th. Finally, this agreement shall hold good for at least three years
from May 1st, 1761, with the further condition that if at the conclusion
of this term the said Joseph Heyden shall desire to leave the service,
he shall notify his intention to his Highness half-a-year beforehand.

"14th. His Serene Highness undertakes to keep Joseph Heyden in his
service during this time, and should he be satisfied with him, he may
look forward to being appointed Capellmeister. This, however, must not
be understood to deprive his Serene Highness of the freedom to dismiss
the said Joseph Heyden at the expiration of the term, should he see fit
to do so.

"Duplicate copies of this document shall be executed and exchanged.

"Given at Vienna this 1st day of May 1761,

"Ad mandatum Celsissimi Principis.

"JOHANN STIFFTELL, Secretary."

An "Upper Servant"?

The situation indicated by this lengthy document has afforded matter for
a good deal of comment, and not a little foolish writing. With some
it is the old case of Porpora and the blacking of the boots. Thus Miss
Townsend remarks: "Our indignation is roused at finding a great artist
placed in the position of an upper servant, and required to perform
duties almost menial in their nature." That is essentially a modern
view. These things have to be judged in relation to the ideas of the
age. It was only a few years before this that Johnson had contemptuously
thrown away a pair of boots which some pitying soul had placed at the
door of his rooms at Pembroke. The British mind likes to think of the
sturdy independence of the man who struck the death-blow at patronage in
literature. But Johnson himself had the meanest opinion of fiddlers.

Dependence in the Order of Nature

There was no talk in Haydn's native country of the dignity of art, at
any rate so far as musicians were concerned. When Mozart first arrived
in Vienna in 1781, he had to live with the archbishop's household, and
dine at the servants' table. Nay, he was known as "the villain, the low
fellow." And is it altogether certain even now, in free Britain, that
the parish organist is very clearly distinguished in the squire's mind
from the peripatetic organ-grinder? Public opinion does not seem to
have commiserated Haydn on his position of dependence; and, as for Haydn
himself, he was no doubt only too glad to have an assured income and
a comfortable home. We may be certain that he did not find the yoke
unbearably galling. He was of humble birth; of a family which must
always have looked up to their "betters" as unspeakably and immeasurably
above them. Dependence was in the order of nature, and a man of Haydn's
good sense was the last in the world to starve and fret because his
freedom to practice his art and develop his powers was complicated with
a sort of feudal service. Some strong souls may find an empty purse the
truest source of inspiration, as Mr Russell Lowell declares it to be;
but it is very much to be doubted whether a careful investigation would
show that a great man's best work was done with the wolf at the door.

Material Advantages

Haydn had no self-pity: why should we pity him? He had free quarters at
the palace, with liberty to enjoy the company of his wife when she chose
to favour him—an event of rare occurrence. His salary was raised from
time to time. The old prince, his first employer, paid him 400 florins;
his successor increased the amount first to 600 and then to 782 florins
(78 pounds); and finally he had 1400 florins, which last sum was
continued to him as a pension when he left the Esterhazy service.
Although money had a much higher purchasing value in those days, the
figures here quoted do not seem princely when we consider the extent
and nature of Haydn's duties, but to a man of Haydn's simple tastes they
would appear ample enough. At least, they would save him from lying on
straw and drinking bad whisky, which Wagner regarded as among the things
that are inimical to the creative genius.

Artistic Advantages

These were the material advantages of the Eisenstadt appointment. The
artistic advantages were even more important, especially to a young and
inexperienced artist who, so far, had not enjoyed many opportunities of
practically testing his own work. Haydn had a very good band always at
his disposal, the members of which were devoted to him. If he wrote part
of a symphony over-night he could try it in the morning, prune, revise,
accept, reject. Many a young composer of to-day would rejoice at such an
opportunity, as indeed Haydn himself rejoiced at it. "I not only had the
encouragement of constant approval," he says, speaking of this period of
his career, "but as conductor of an orchestra I could make experiments,
observe what produced an effect and what weakened it, and was thus in a
position to improve, alter, make additions and omissions, and be as bold
as I pleased."

Some Disadvantages

No doubt there were some disadvantages in counterpoise. After the gay
life of Vienna, Eisenstadt must have been dull enough, and there is
plenty of evidence to show that the young artist occasionally fell into
the dumps. In one letter he complains that he "never can obtain leave,
even for four-and-twenty hours, to go to Vienna." In another he writes:
"I am doomed to stay at home. What I lose by so doing you can well
imagine. It is indeed sad always to be a slave, but Providence wills it
so. I am a poor creature, plagued perpetually by hard work, and with few
hours for recreation." Haydn clearly recognized the necessities of
the artist. A quiet life is all very well, but no man ever yet greatly
touched the hearts of men if he kept himself too strictly segregated
from his kind. Music, like every other art, would perish in a hot-house.
Reckon up to-day the composers who are really a force in the emotional
life of the people, and ask which of them was reared in the serene, cold
air of the academies. A composer to be great must live with his fellows,
and open his soul to human affluences. "I was cut off from the world,"
says Haydn. "There was no one to confuse or torment me, and I was forced
to become original." But his originality was that of an active
mind working upon material already stored, and the store had to be
replenished in occasional excursions, all too few, from the palace.

The Eisenstadt appointment, then, provided for Haydn's material wants,
and gave him opportunities for the peaceful pursuit of his studies, for
experiment and self-criticism. He was treated with great consideration
by the Esterhazys, and, menial or not, he lived on their bounty and in
the friendliest relations with them.

Capellmeister Werner

From his agreement with Prince Esterhazy it will have been gathered
that, though virtually entrusted with the direction of the Eisenstadt
musical establishment, Haydn was really under the control of an old
official. Such arrangements seldom work well. The retention of Joseph
Werner was presumably due to the thoughtful kindness of his noble
patron, but it was bound to lead to awkward situations. Werner had
served the Esterhazys for thirty-two years, and could not be expected
to placidly accept his supersession by a young and as yet almost unknown
musician. True, he was not a very distinguished man himself. He had
composed a large amount of music, chiefly sacred, including thirty-nine
masses and twelve "Oratorios for Good Friday," besides some grotesque
pieces intended as burlesques of the musical life of Vienna. Not one of
his works has any real musical value; but, as is usually the case with
the talent which stops short of genius, he thought a great deal of
himself, and was inclined to look down upon Haydn as an interloper,
unskilled in that rigid counterpoint which was the "heaven's law" of the
old-time composer. Indeed, he described his associate as "a mere fop"
and "a scribbler of songs."

A Posthumous Tribute

It is but fair to Haydn to say that, if he did not suffer his nominal
superior gladly, he at least treated him with respect and a certain
deference. He did more. Werner died in 1766, having thus seen only five
years of the new order of things, but Haydn's regard for his memory was
such that, so late as 1804, he published six of his fugues arranged as
string quartets, "out of sincere esteem for this celebrated master."
A kindness of heart and a total absence of professional jealousy
characterized Haydn throughout his whole career, and never more than in
this action.

Esterhazy "the Magnificent"

The composer had been rather less than a twelvemonth in his service when
Prince Paul Anton died on the 18th of March 1762. He was succeeded by
his brother Nicolaus, a sort of glorified "Grand Duke" of Chandos, who
rejoiced in the soubriquet of "The Magnificent." He loved ostentation
and glitter above all things, wearing at times a uniform bedecked with
diamonds. But he loved music as well. More, he was a performer
himself, and played the baryton, a stringed instrument not unlike the
viola-da-gamba, in general use up to the end of the eighteenth century.
Haydn naturally desired to please his prince, and being perpetually
pestered to provide new works for the noble baryton player, he thought
it would flatter him if he himself learnt to handle the baryton. This
proved an unfortunate misreading of "The Magnificent's" character, for
when Haydn at length made his debut with the instrument, the prince lost
no time in letting him understand that he disapproved of such rivalry.
An amusing story is told of Kraft, the Eisenstadt 'cellist, at this
time, who occasionally played the second baryton. Kraft presented
the prince with a composition into which he had introduced a solo
for himself as second baryton. The prince asked to see the part, and
proceeded to try it over. Coming to a difficult passage, he exclaimed
indignantly: "For the future, write solos only for my part; it is no
credit to you to play better than I; it is your duty."

Compositions for Baryton

Haydn, so far as we can make out, never essayed the baryton again,
but he wrote a surprising amount of music for it, considering its
complicated mechanism and the weakness of its tone. In the catalogue
of his works there are no fewer than 175 compositions for the
instrument—namely, six duets for two barytons, twelve sonatas for
baryton and violoncello, twelve divertimenti for two barytons and bass,
and 125 divertimenti for baryton, viola and violoncello; seventeen
so-called "cassations"; and three concertos for baryton, with
accompaniment of two violins and bass. There is no need to say anything
about these compositions, inasmuch as they have gone to oblivion with
the instrument which called them into being. At the best they can never
have been of much artistic importance.

A Reproval

A new epoch began at Eisenstadt with the rule of Prince Nicolaus. He
was a man of unbounded energy himself, and he expected everybody in
his service to be energetic too. There is nothing to suggest that Haydn
neglected any of his routine duties, which certainly gave him abundant
opportunity to "break the legs of time," but once, at least—in
1765—his employer taxed him with lack of diligence in composition,
as well as for failing to maintain the necessary discipline among the
musicians under his charge. It is likely enough that Haydn was not a
rigid disciplinarian; but it must have been a mere whim on the part of
Prince Nicolaus to reprove him on the score of laziness in composing.
In any case, it seems to have been only a solitary reproof. There is no
evidence of its having been repeated, and we may assume that even now
it was not regarded as a very serious matter, from the fact that three
weeks after the prince was requesting his steward to pay Haydn 12 ducats
for three new pieces, with which he was "very much pleased."

Operettas

Life at Eisenstadt moved on in "calm peace and quiet," but now and again
it was stirred into special activity, when Haydn had to put forth his
efforts in various new directions. Such an occasion came very early in
his service of Prince Nicolaus, when that pompous person made triumphant
entry into Eisenstadt. The festivities were on a regal scale and
continued for a whole month. A company of foreign players had been
engaged to perform on a stage erected in the large conservatory, and
Haydn was required to provide them with operettas. He wrote several
works of the kind, one of which, "La Marchesa Nepola," survives in the
autograph score. Later on, for the marriage of Count Anton, the eldest
son of Prince Nicolaus, in 1763, he provided a setting of the story
which Handel had already used for his "Acis and Galatea." This work,
which was performed by the Eisenstadt Capelle, with the orchestra
clad in a new uniform of crimson and gold, bore the name of "Acide e
Galatea." Portions of the score still exist—a section of the overture,
four arias, and a finale quartet. The overture is described as being
"in his own style, fresh and cheerful, foreshadowing his symphonies.
The songs are in the Italian manner, very inferior in originality
and expression to Handel's music; the quartet is crude in form and
uninteresting in substance." [See Miss Townsend's Haydn, p. 44.]

It would seem rather ungracious, as it would certainly be redundant to
discuss these "occasional" works in detail. For one thing, the material
necessary to enable us to form a correct estimate of Haydn's powers as a
dramatic composer is wanting. The original autograph of "Armida," first
performed in 1783, is, indeed, preserved. "Orfeo ed Euridice," written
for the King's Theatre in the Haymarket in 1791, but never staged, was
printed at Leipzig in 1806, and a fair idea of the general style of
the work may be obtained from the beautiful air, "Il pensier sta negli
oggetti," included in a collection entitled "Gemme d'Antichita." But
beyond these and the fragments previously mentioned, there is little
left to represent Haydn as a composer of opera, the scores of most of
the works written expressly for Prince Esterhazy having been destroyed
when the prince's private theatre was burned down in 1779. What Haydn
would have done for opera if he had devoted his serious attention to
it at any of the larger theatres it is, of course, impossible to say.
Judging from what has survived of his work in this department, he was
notable for refinement rather than for dramatic power. We must, however,
remember the conditions under which he worked. He confessed himself that
his operas were fitted only for the small stage at Esterhaz and "could
never produce the proper effect elsewhere." If he had written with a
large stage in view, it may reasonably be assumed that he would have
written somewhat differently.

Occasional Works

In 1764 Prince Nicolaus made a journey to Frankfort for the coronation
of the Archduke Joseph as King of the Romans. After the festivities
connected with that imposing function were over he extended his journey
to Paris, where he created some sensation by his extravagant displays
of wealth and circumstance. During the Prince's absence Haydn
busied himself on a couple of compositions intended to celebrate his
home-coming. One was a Te Deum, the other a cantata. The latter work is
the more worthy of remark, not because of its music, but because of
the fulsomely obsequious manner in which it celebrates the graces and
virtues of Nicolaus the Magnificent. The cantata is made up of choruses
and duets, a recitative and two arias. Parts of it were afterwards
employed in church services. The Te Deum is in C major, and is for four
voices with orchestra. It is interesting as an early work, especially if
we compare it with the greater Te Deum in the same key composed in the
year 1800.

First Symphonies

At this point a summary may perhaps be made of the compositions written
by Haydn during these five years a Eisenstadt. The list, as given by
Pohl, comprises, in addition to the works already named, about thirty
symphonies six string trios, a few divertimenti in five parts, a piece
for four violins and two 'celli, entitled "Echo," twelve minuets for
orchestra, concertos, trios, sonatas and variations for clavier, and,
in vocal music, a "Salve Regina" for soprano and alto, two violins and
organ. It would serve no useful purpose to deal with these works in
detail. The symphonies are, of course, the most important feature in the
list, but of these we shall speak generally when treating of Haydn as
the father of instrumental music. The first Symphony in C Major, usually
called "Le Midi," is of special interest.

[Figure: a musical score excerpt]

The autograph score, dated 1761, and preserved at Eisenstadt, is
superscribed, "In Nomine Domini," and closes with Haydn's customary
"Laus Deo" after the final signature The work is in the usual four
movements. The symphonies of this date included also those known in
England as "Le Matin" and "Le Soir," the one beginning—

[Figure: a musical score excerpt] and the other—

[figure: a musical score excerpt]

Of the string quartets and other instrumental compositions of the period
nothing need be said. In all these the composer was simply feeling
his way towards a more perfect expression, and as few of them are now
performed, their interest for us is almost entirely antiquarian.

To crowd the details of a professional career covering close upon a
quarter of a century into a single chapter would, in the case of most of
the great composers, be an altogether impossible task. In Haydn's case
the difficulty is to find the material for even so slight a record. His
life went on smoothly, almost sleepily, as we should now think, in the
service of his prince, without personal incident and with next to no
disturbance from the outside world. If he had not been a genius of the
first rank the outside world would, in all probability, never have heard
of his existence.

Haydn's Fame extending

As it was, his fame was now manifestly spreading. Thus the Wiener Diarum
for 1766 includes him among the most distinguished musicians of
Vienna, and describes him as "the darling of our nation." His amiable
disposition, says the panegyrist, "speaks through every one of his
works. His music has beauty, purity, and a delicate and noble simplicity
which commends it to every hearer. His cassations, quartets and trios
may be compared to a pure, clear stream of water, the surface now
rippled by a gentle breeze from the south, and anon breaking into
agitated billows, but without ever leaving its proper channel and
appointed course. His symphonies are full of force and delicate
sympathy. In his cantatas he shows himself at once captivating and
caressing, and in his minuets he is delightful and full of humour. In
short, Haydn is in music what Gellert is in poetry." This comparison
with Gellert, who died three years later, was at that date, as Dr Pohl
remarks, the most flattering that could well be made. The simplicity
and naturalness of Gellert's style were the very antithesis of the
pedantries and frigid formalities of the older school; and just as he
pioneered the way for the resuscitation of German poetry under Goethe
and Schiller, so Haydn may be said to have prepared the path for
Beethoven and the modern school.

Haydn and Mozart compared

Very likely it was this comparison of the magazine writer that suggested
Dittersdorf's remark to Joseph II in 1786, when the emperor requested
him to draw an analogy between Haydn's and Mozart's chamber music.
Dittersdorf shrewdly replied by asking the emperor in his turn to draw a
parallel between Gellert and Klopstock; whereupon Joseph made answer by
saying that both were great poets, but that Klopstock's works required
attentive study, while Gellert's beauties were open to the first glance.
The analogy, Dittersdorf tells us, "pleased the emperor very much." Its
point is, however, not very clear—that is to say, it is not very clear
whether the emperor meant to compare Klopstock with Haydn and Gellert
with Mozart or vice versa, and whether, again, he regarded it as more of
a merit that the poet and the composer should require study or be "open
to the first glance." Joseph was certainly friendly towards Mozart, but
by all accounts he had no great love for Haydn, to whose "tricks and
nonsense" he made frequent sneering reference.

The first noteworthy event of 1766 was the death of Werner, which took
place on March 5. It made no real difference to Haydn, who, as we have
seen, had been from the first, in effect, if not in name, chief of
the musical establishment; but it at least freed him from sundry petty
annoyances, and left him absolutely master of the musical situation.
Shortly after Werner's death, the entire musical establishment at
Eisenstadt was removed to the prince's new palace of Esterhaz, with
which Haydn was now to be connected for practically the whole of his
remaining professional career.

Esterhaz

A great deal has been written about Esterhaz, but it is not necessary
that we should occupy much space with a description of the castle and
its surroundings. The palace probably owed its inception to the prince's
visit to Paris in 1764. At any rate, it is in the French Renaissance
style, and there is some significance in the fact that a French
traveller who saw it about 1782 described it as having no place but
Versailles to compare with it for magnificence. The situation—about
three and a half miles from Eisenstadt—was anything but suitable for an
erection of the kind, being in an unhealthy marsh and "quite out of the
world." But Prince Nicolaus had set his heart upon the scheme, as Scott
set his heart upon Abbotsford; and just as "Clarty Hole" came in time to
be "parked about and gated grandly," so Esterhaz, after something
like 11,000,000 gulden had been spent upon it, emerged a veritable
Versailles, with groves and grottoes, hermitages and temples,
summer-houses and hot-houses, and deer parks and flower gardens.
There were two theatres in the grounds: one for operas and dramatic
performances generally; the other "brilliantly ornamented and furnished
with large artistic marionettes, excellent scenery and appliances."

A Puppet Theatre

It is upon the entertainments connected with the latter house that the
French traveller just mentioned chiefly dwells. "The prince," he says,
"has a puppet theatre which is certainly unique in character. Here the
grandest operas are produced. One knows not whether to be amazed or to
laugh at seeing 'Alceste,' 'Alcides,' etc., put on the stage with all
due solemnity, and played by puppets. His orchestra is one of the best
I ever heard, and the great Haydn is his court and theatre composer.
He employs a poet for his singular theatre, whose humour and skill
in suiting the grandest subjects for the stage, and in parodying the
gravest effects, are often exceedingly happy. He often engages a troupe
of wandering players for a month at a time, and he himself and his
retinue form the entire audience. They are allowed to come on the stage
uncombed, drunk, their parts not half learned, and half-dressed. The
prince is not for the serious and tragic, and he enjoys it when the
players, like Sancho Panza, give loose reins to their humour."

Prince Nicolaus became so much attached to this superb creation of his
own, that he seldom cared to leave it. A small portion of the Capelle
remained at Eisenstadt to carry on the church service there, but the
prince seldom went to Eisenstadt, and more seldom still to Vienna. Most
of the Hungarian grandees liked nothing better than to display their
wealth in the Imperial city during the winter season; but to Haydn's
employer there was literally "no place like home." When he did go to
Vienna, he would often cut short his visits in the most abrupt manner,
to the great confusion of his musicians and other dependants.
These eccentricities must have given some annoyance to Haydn, who,
notwithstanding his love of quiet and seclusion, often longed for
the change and variety of city life. It is said that he was specially
anxious to make a tour in Italy about this time, but that ambition had,
of necessity, to be abandoned.

A Busy Life

There was certainly plenty for him to do at Esterhaz—more than he
had ever been required to do at Eisenstadt. Royalties, nobles and
aristocrats were constantly at the palace; and music was one of the
chief diversions provided for them. The prince was very proud of his
musical establishment, and desired to have it considered the best of its
kind in Europe. The orchestra of the opera was formed of members of the
Capelle; "the singers were Italian for the most part, engaged for one,
two, or more years, and the books of the words were printed. Numerous
strolling companies were engaged for shorter terms; travelling virtuosi
often played with the members of the band. Special days and hours were
fixed for chamber music, and for orchestral works; and in the interval
the singers, musicians and actors met at the cafe, and formed, so to
speak, one family." Something more than creative genius was obviously
required to direct the music of an establishment of this kind. A talent
for organization, an eye for detail, tact in the management of players
and singers—these qualities were all indispensable for the performance
of duties such as Haydn had undertaken. That he possessed them we may
fairly assume from more than one circumstance. In the first place,
his employer was satisfied with him. He raised his salary, listened
attentively to all his suggestions, and did everything that he could
to retain his services. In the second place, his band and singers
were sincerely attached to him. They saw that he had their interests,
personal and professional, at heart, and they "loved him like a father."
The prince paid them well, and several of them were sufficiently capable
to receive appointments afterwards in the Imperial Chapel. Pohl gives a
list of the names about this time, but, with one or two exceptions, they
are quite unfamiliar. J. B. Krumpholtz, the harpist, was engaged from
1773 to 1776, and Andreas Lidl, who played in London soon after leaving
the band, was in the service of the prince from 1769 to 1774.

The sum paid to Haydn at this date was not large as we should now
consider it, but it was sufficient to free him from financial worry had
it not been for the extravagance and bad management of his wife. The
prince gave him about 78 pounds, in addition to which he had certain
allowances in kind, and, as we have already said, free quarters for
himself and his wife when she thought fit to stay with him. Probably,
too, he was now making something substantial by his compositions.
Griesinger declares that he had saved about 200 pounds before 1790, the
year when he started for London. If that be true, he must have been very
economical. His wife, we must remember, was making constant calls upon
him for money, and in addition he had to meet the pressing demands of
various poor relations. His correspondence certainly does not tend to
show that he was saving, and we know that when he set out for London he
had not only to draw upon the generosity of his prince for the costs of
the journey, but had to sell his house to provide for his wife until his
return.

Opera at Esterhaz

It is time, however, to speak of some of Haydn's compositions during
this period. At Esterhaz he "wrote nearly all his operas, most of his
arias and songs, the music for the marionette theatre—of which he was
particularly fond—and the greater part of his orchestral and chamber
works." The dramatic works bulk rather largely during the earlier
part of the period. In 1769, for example, when the whole musical
establishment of Esterhaz visited Vienna, a performance of his opera,
"Lo Speciale," was given at the house of Freiherr von Sommerau, and
was repeated in the form of a concert. Other works of the kind were
performed at intervals, particularly on festival occasions, but as
most of them have perished, and all of them are essentially pieces
d'occasion, it is unnecessary even to recall their names. In 1771 Haydn
wrote a "Stabat Mater" and a "Salve Regina," and in 1773 followed the
Symphony in C which bears the name of the Empress Maria Theresa, having
been written for the empress's visit to Esterhaz in September of that
year. In the course of the visit Haydn was naturally introduced to Her
Majesty, when, as we have stated, he took occasion to remind her of the
"good hiding" she had ordered him to have at Schonbrunn during the old
chorister days at St Stephen's. "Well, you see, my dear Haydn," was the
reply, "the hiding has borne good fruit."

First Oratorio

In 1775 came his first oratorio, "Il Ritorno di Tobia." This is an
exceedingly interesting work. It was first performed under Haydn's
direction by the Tonkunstler Societat, with solo singers from Esterbaz,
at Vienna, on April 2, 1775. In 1784 Haydn added two choruses, one a
"Storm Chorus," which is sometimes confused with the "Storm Chorus" (in
the same key, but in triple time) composed during his sojourn in London.
It is from "Il Ritorno di Tobia" that the so-called motet, "Insanae et
Vanae Curae," is adapted, and the "Storm Chorus" immediately follows
a fine soprano air in F minor and major, sung by Anna in the original
work, a portion of which forms the beautiful second subject (in F)
of the "Insanae." The original words of this chorus—"Svanisce in un
momento"—are to the effect that the soul threatens to yield to the
fury of its enemies, yet trust in God keeps one steadfast. The music
admirably reflects these contrasting sentiments, first in the tumultuous
D minor section, and then in the tranquillity of the F major portion
which follows, no less than in the trustful quietude of the D major
conclusion. Latin words were adapted to three of the original choruses,
but nothing seems to be known as to the origin of the "Insanae"
adaptation. A full score of the motet, published by Breitkopf & Hartel
in 1809, was reviewed in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung of August
15, 1810, as if it were an entirely original work. The source of the
Latin words also remains a mystery. They were presumably put together to
fit Haydn's music, but by whom we have no means of ascertaining.

It is interesting to know that Haydn brought the score of his "Il
Ritorno di Tobia" with him to England on the occasion of his first visit
in 1791, probably with a view to its performance here. Messrs Novello's
private library contains an oblong volume in the handwriting of Vincent
Novello, in which he has copied some numbers from "Tobia," including the
air of Anna already mentioned, but not the "Insanae" chorus. The inside
cover of the book bears the following note in Novello's hand, written,
not later than 1820, under the contents of the volume:

"The whole of the above are unpublished manuscripts, and were copied
from an extremely rare volume, containing the full orchestral score of
the entire oratorio, kindly lent to me for the purpose by my friend, Mr
Shield, who had obtained it from Haydn himself during the visit of the
latter to England in the year 1791.—VINCENT NOVELLO, 240 Oxford St."

[See an interesting account of "Il Ritorno di Tobia" in The Musical
Times for September 1901, p. 600.]

Some of our musical societies in search of novelties might do worse
than revive this almost completely forgotten oratorio. The airs
are exceedingly melodious, and the choruses bold and tuneful, with
well-developed fugue subjects. The "Insanae" already referred to is
frequently performed.

Opponents

In 1776 Haydn composed "La Vera Costanza" for the Court Theatre of
Vienna, but owing to certain intrigues it was declined by the management
and produced at Esterhaz instead. The opera was subsequently staged
at Vienna in 1790, and six of its airs and a duet were published by
Artaria. This incident makes it sufficiently plain that Haydn had
his opponents among the musicians and critics of Vienna as well as
elsewhere. Burney says a friend in Hamburg wrote him in 1772 that "the
genius, fine ideas and fancy of Haydn, Ditters and Filitz were praised,
but their mixture of serious and comic was disliked, particularly as
there is more of the latter than the former in their works; and as for
rules, they knew but little of them." If we substitute "humorous" for
"comic," this may be allowed to fully represent the views of the critics
and amateurs of Vienna in regard to Haydn's music.

And, unfortunately, the incident just mentioned was not a solitary one.
In 1778 Haydn applied for membership to the Tonkunstler Societat, for
whom he had in reality written his "Il Ritorno di Tobia." One would have
expected such a body to receive him with open arms, but instead of that
they exacted a sum of 300 florins on the ground of his non-residence
in Vienna! Not only so, but they would fain have brought him under a
promise to compose for them whenever they chose to ask him. This latter
condition Haydn felt to be impossible in view of his engagement at
Esterhaz, and he withdrew his admission fee. That the society were not
ashamed of themselves is obvious from a further episode. Some years
after this they desired Haydn to rearrange his "Tobia" for a special
performance, and when he demanded payment for his trouble they promptly
decided to produce Hasse's "Elena" instead. Everything comes to the man
who waits. After his second visit to London the Tonkunstler Societat
welcomed Haydn at a special meeting, and with one voice appointed him
"Assessor Senior" for life. In return for this distinction he presented
the society with "The Creation" and "The Seasons," to which gifts,
according to Pohl, its prosperity is mainly owing.

"L'Isola Disabitata"

If Haydn was thus less highly appreciated at home than he deserved to
be, there were others who knew his sterling worth. In 1779 he composed
one of his best operas, "L'Isola Disabitata," the libretto of which was
by his old benefactor Metastasio, and this work procured his nomination
as a member of the Philharmonic Society of Modena. The following extract
of a letter written to Artaria in May 1781 is interesting in this
connection. He says: "M. le Gros, director of the 'Concerts Spirituels'
[in Paris], wrote me a great many fine things about my Stabat Mater,
which had been given there four times with great applause; so this
gentleman asked permission to have it engraved. They made me an offer
to engrave all my future works on very advantageous terms, and are much
surprised that my compositions for the voice are so singularly pleasing.
I, however, am not in the least surprised, for, as yet, they have heard
nothing. If they could only hear my operetta, 'L'Isola Disabitata,' and
my last Shrove-tide opera, 'La Fedelta Premiata,' I do assure you that
no such work has hitherto been heard in Paris, nor, perhaps, in Vienna
either. My great misfortune is living in the country." It will be seen
from this what he thought of "L'Isola," which was not heard in Vienna
until its performance at a concert given at the Court Theatre by
Willmann the 'cellist in 1785. Haydn sent the score to the King
of Spain, who showed his sense of the honour by the gift of a gold
snuff-box, set in brilliants. Other marks of royal attention were
bestowed upon him about this time. Thus, in 1784, Prince Henry of
Prussia sent him a gold medal and his portrait in return for the
dedication of six new quartets, while in 1787 King Frederick William
II gave him the famous gold ring which he afterwards always wore when
composing.

A Love Episode

But we have passed somewhat out of our chronological order. The absence
of love at home, as we all know, often encourages love abroad. Haydn
liked to have an occasional flirtation, as ardent as might be within the
bounds of decorum. Sometimes, indeed, according to our insular ideas of
such things, he exceeded the bounds of decorum, as in the case of which
we are now compelled to speak. Among the musicians who had been engaged
for the Esterhazy service in 1779 were a couple named Polzelli—the
husband a violinist, the wife a second-rate vocalist. Luigia Polzelli
was a lively Italian girl of nineteen. She does not seem to have been
happy with Polzelli, and Haydn's pity was roused for her, much
as Shelley's pity was roused for "my unfortunate friend," Harriet
Westbrook. The pity, as often happens in such cases, ultimately ripened
into a violent passion.

We are not concerned to adopt an apologetic tone towards Haydn. But
Signora Polzelli was clearly an unscrupulous woman. She first got her
admirer into her power, and then used her position to dun him for money.
She had two sons, and the popular belief of the time that Haydn was
the father of the younger is perpetuated in several of the biographies.
Haydn had certainly a great regard for the boy, made him a pupil of
his own, and left him a small sum in his first will, which, however, he
revoked in the second. Signora Polzelli's conduct was probably natural
enough in the circumstances, but it must have been rather embarrassing
to Haydn. After the death of her husband, she wheedled him into signing
a paper promising to marry her in the event of his becoming a widower.
This promise he subsequently repudiated, but he cared for her well
enough to leave her an annuity in his will, notwithstanding that she
had married again. She survived him for twenty-three years, and her two
daughters were still living at Pesth in 1878.

Returning to 1779, an untoward event of that year was the destruction
by fire of the theatre at Esterhaz. The re-building of the house was
set about at once, the prince having meanwhile gone to Paris, and the
re-opening took place on October 15, 1780, when Haydn's "La Fedelta
Premiata," already mentioned, was staged.

Correspondence

It was about this time that he began to correspond with Artaria, the
Vienna music-publisher, with whom he had business dealings for many
years. A large number of his letters is given in an English translation
by Lady Wallace. [See Letters of Distinguished Musicians. Translated
from the German by Lady Wallace. London, 1867]. They treat principally
of business matters, but are not unimportant as fixing the chronological
dates of some of his works. They exhibit in a striking way the simple,
honest, unassuming nature of the composer; and if they also show him
"rather eager after gain, and even particular to a groschen," we must
not forget the ever-pressing necessity for economy under which he
laboured, and his almost lavish benevolence to straitened relatives and
friends. In one letter requesting an advance he writes: "I am unwilling
to be in debt to tradesmen, and, thank God! I am free from this burden;
but as great people keep me so long waiting for payments, I have got
rather into difficulty. This letter, however, will be your security...I
will pay off the interest with my notes." There is no real ground
for charging Haydn with avarice, as some writers have done. "Even
philosophers," as he remarked himself, "occasionally stand in need of
money"; and, as Beethoven said to George Thomson, when haggling
about prices, there is no reason why the "true artist" should not be
"honourably paid."

A London Publisher

It was about this time too that Haydn opened a correspondence with
William Forster of London, who had added to his business of violin-maker
that of a music-seller and publisher. Forster entered into an agreement
with him for the English copyright of his compositions, and between
1781 and 1787 he published eighty-two symphonies, twenty-four quartets,
twenty-four solos, duets and trios, and the "Seven Last Words," of which
we have yet to speak. Nothing of the Forster correspondence seems to
have survived.

Royal Dedicatees

Among the events of 1781-1782 should be noted the entertainments given
in connection with two visits which the Emperor Joseph II received from
the Grand Duke Paul and his wife. The Grand Duchess was musical, and had
just been present at the famous combat between Clementi and Mozart, a
suggestion of the Emperor. She had some of Haydn's quartets played at
her house and liked them so well that she gave him a diamond snuff-box
and took lessons from him. It was to her that he afterwards—in
1802—dedicated his part-songs for three and four voices, while the
Grand Duke was honoured by the dedication of the six so-called "Russian"
quartets. It had been arranged that the Duke and Duchess should
accompany the Emperor to Eisenstadt, but the arrangement fell through,
and an opera which Haydn had written for the occasion was only produced
at Esterhaz in the autumn of 1782. This was his "Orlando Paladino,"
better known in its German form as "Ritter Roland." Another work of this
year (1782) was the "Mariazell" Mass in C major (Novello, No. 15), which
derives its name from the shrine of the Virgin in Styria, the scene
of an incident already related. The mass was written to the order of a
certain Herr Liebe de Kreutzner, and the composer is said to have taken
special pains with it, perhaps because it reminded him of his early
struggling days as a chorister in Vienna. It was the eighth mass Haydn
had written, one being the long and difficult "Cecilia" Mass in C
major, now heard only in a curtailed form. No other work of the kind was
composed until 1796, between which year and 1802 the best of his masses
were produced. To the year 1783 belongs the opera "Armida," performed in
1784 and again in 1797 at Schickaneder's Theatre in Vienna. Haydn writes
to Artaria in March 1784 to say that "Armida" had been given at Esterhaz
with "universal applause," adding that "it is thought the best work I
have yet written." The autograph score was sent to London to make up, in
a manner, for the non-performance of his "Orfeo" there in 1791.

The "Seven Words"

But the most interesting work of this period was the "Seven Words of our
Saviour on the Cross," written in 1785. The circumstances attending its
composition are best told in Haydn's own words. In Breitkopf & Hartel's
edition of 1801, he writes:

About fifteen years ago I was requested by a Canon of Cadiz to compose
instrumental music on the Seven Words of Jesus on the Cross. It was
the custom of the Cathedral of Cadiz to produce an oratorio every year
during Lent, the effect of the performance being not a little enhanced
by the following circumstances. The walls, windows and pillars of the
Church were hung with black cloth, and only one large lamp, hanging from
the centre of the roof, broke the solemn obscurity. At mid-day the doors
were closed and the ceremony began. After a short service the bishop
ascended the pulpit, pronounced one of the Seven Words (or sentences)
and delivered a discourse thereon. This ended, he left the pulpit and
knelt prostrate before the altar. The pause was filled by the music. The
bishop then in like manner pronounced the second word, then the third,
and so on, the orchestra falling in at the conclusion of each discourse.
My composition was to be subject to these conditions, and it was no easy
matter to compose seven adagios to last ten minutes each, and follow one
after the other without fatiguing the listeners; indeed I found it quite
impossible to confine myself within the appointed limits.

This commission may be taken as a further evidence of the growing extent
of Haydn's fame. He appears to have been already well known in Spain.
Boccherini carried on a friendly correspondence with him from Madrid,
and he was actually made the hero of a poem called "The Art of Music,"
published there in 1779. The "Seven Words" created a profound impression
when performed under the circumstances just detailed, but the work was
not allowed to remain in its original form, though it was printed in
that form by Artaria and by Forster. Haydn divided it into two parts,
and added choruses and solos, in which form it was given for the first
time at Eisenstadt in October, 1797, and published in 1801. The "Seven
Words" was a special favourite of the composer himself, who indeed is
declared by some to have preferred it to all his other compositions.

The "Toy" Symphony

The remaining years of the period covered by this chapter being almost
totally devoid of incident, we may pause to notice briefly two of the
better-known symphonies of the time—the "Toy" Symphony and the more
famous "Farewell." The former is a mere jeu d'esprit, in which, with an
orchestral basis of two violins and a bass, the solo instruments are all
of a burlesque character. Mozart attempted something of a kindred
nature in his "Musical joke," where instruments come in at wrong places,
execute inappropriate phrases, and play abominably out of tune. This
kind of thing does not require serious notice, especially in the case
of Haydn, to whom humour in music was a very different matter from the
handling of rattles and penny trumpets and toy drums.

The "Farewell" Symphony

The "Farewell" Symphony has often been described, though the
circumstances of its origin are generally mis-stated. It has been
asserted, for example, that Haydn intended it as an appeal to the prince
against the dismissal of the Capelle. But this, as Pohl has conclusively
shown, is incorrect. The real design of the "Farewell" was to persuade
the prince to shorten his stay at Esterhaz, and so enable the musicians
to rejoin their wives and families. Fortunately, the prince was
quick-witted enough to see the point of the joke. As one after another
ceased playing and left the orchestra, until only two violinists
remained, he quietly observed, "If all go, we may as well go too."
Thus Haydn's object was attained—for the time being! The "Farewell"
is perfectly complete as a work of art, but its fitness for ordinary
occasions is often minimized by the persistent way in which its original
purpose is pointed out to the listener.

Free from Esterhaz

Haydn's active career at Esterhaz may be said to have closed with the
death, on September 28, 1790, of Prince Nicolaus. The event was of great
importance to his future. Had the prince lived, Haydn would doubtless
have continued in his service, for he "absolutely adored him." But
Prince Anton, who now succeeded, dismissed the whole Capelle, retaining
only the few members necessary for the carrying on of the church
service, and Haydn's occupation was practically gone. The new prince
nominally held the right to his services, but there was no reason for
his remaining longer at the castle, and he accordingly took up his
residence in Vienna. Thus free to employ his time as he considered best,
Haydn embraced the opportunity to carry out a long-meditated project,
and paid the first of his two visits to London. With these we enter upon
a new epoch in the composer's life, and one of great interest to the
student and lover of music.

CHAPTER V. FIRST LONDON VISIT—1791-1792

English Music about 1791—Salomon—Mozart and Haydn—Terms for
London—Bonn and Beethoven—Haydn Sea-Sick—Arrives in London—An
Enthusiastic Welcome—Ideas of the Metropolis—At Court—Unreasoning
Rivalries—Temporarily eclipsed—Band and Baton—A Rehearsal
Incident—Hanover Square Rooms—Hoops and Swords—The "Surprise"
Symphony—Gallic Excitement—New Compositions—Benefit and Other
Concerts—Haydn on Handel—Oxford Doctor of Music—The
"Oxford" Symphony—Relaxations—Royalty again—Pleyel—Close of
Season—Herschel—Haydn at St Paul's—London Acquaintances—Another
Romance—Mistress Schroeter—Love-Letters—Haydn's Note-Book.

English Music about 1791

Haydn came to England in 1791. It may occur to the reader to ask what
England was doing in music at that time, and who were the foremost
representatives of the art. The first question may be partially answered
from the literature of the period. Thus Jackson, in his Present State of
Music in London, published the year after Haydn's arrival, remarks
that "instrumental music has been of late carried to such perfection
in London by the consummate skill of the performers that any attempt to
beat the time would be justly considered as entirely needless." Burney,
again, in his last volume, published in 1789, says that the great
improvement in taste during the previous twenty years was "as different
as civilized people from savages"; while Stafford Smith, writing in
1779, tells that music was then "thought to be in greater perfection
than among even the Italians themselves." There is a characteristic John
Bull complacency about these statements which is hardly borne out by a
study of the lives of the leading contemporary musicians. Even Mr Henry
Davey, the applauding historian of English music, has to admit the
evanescent character of the larger works which came from the composers
of that "bankrupt century." Not one of these composers—not even
Arne—is a real personality to us like Handel, or Bach, or Haydn, or
Mozart. The great merit of English music was melody, which seems to
have been a common gift, but "the only strong feeling was patriotic
enthusiasm, and the compositions that survive are almost all short
ballads expressing this sentiment or connected with it by their nautical
subjects." When Haydn arrived, there was, in short, no native composer
of real genius, and our "tardy, apish nation" was ready to welcome with
special cordiality an artist whose gifts were of a higher order.

Salomon

We have spoken of Haydn's visit as a long-meditated project. In 1787
Cramer, the violinist, had offered to engage him on his own terms for
the Professional Concerts; and Gallini, the director of the King's
Theatre in Drury Lane, pressed him to write an opera for that house.
Nothing came of these proposals, mainly because Haydn was too much
attached to his prince to think of leaving him, even temporarily. But
the time arrived and the man with it. The man was Johann Peter
Salomon, a violinist, who, having fallen out with the directors of the
professional concerts, had started concerts on his own account. Salomon
was a native of Bonn, and had been a member of the Electoral Orchestra
there. He had travelled about the Continent a good deal, and no one was
better fitted to organize and direct a series of concerts on a large
scale. In 1790 he had gone abroad in search of singers, and, hearing of
the death of Prince Esterhazy, he set off at once for Vienna, resolved
to secure Haydn at any cost. "My name is Salomon," he bluntly announced
to the composer, as he was shown into his room one morning. "I have come
from London to fetch you; we will settle terms to-morrow."

The question of terms was, we may be sure, important enough for Haydn.
But it was not the only question. The "heavy years" were beginning to
weigh upon him. He was bordering on threescore, and a long journey in
those days was not to be lightly undertaken. Moreover, he was still,
nominally at least, the servant of Prince Anton, whose consent would
have to be obtained; and, besides all this, he was engaged on various
commissions, notably some for the King of Naples, which were probably a
burden on his conscience. His friends, again, do not appear to have been
very enthusiastic about the projected visit. There were Dittersdorf and
Albrechtsberger, and Dr Leopold von Genzinger, the prince's physician,
and Frau von Genzinger, whose tea and coffee he so much appreciated, and
who sent him such excellent cream. Above all, there was Mozart—"a man
very dear to me," as Haydn himself said.

Mozart and Haydn

He had always greatly revered Mozart. Three years before this he wrote:
"I only wish I could impress upon every friend of mine, and on great men
in particular, the same deep musical sympathy and profound appreciation
which I myself feel for Mozart's inimitable music; then nations would
vie with each other to possess such a jewel within their frontiers. It
enrages me to think that the unparalleled Mozart is not yet engaged at
any Imperial Court! Forgive my excitement; I love the man so dearly."
The regard was reciprocal. "Oh, Papa," exclaimed Mozart, when he heard
of Haydn's intention to travel, "you have had no education for the wide,
wide world, and you speak too few languages." It was feelingly said, and
Haydn knew it. "My language," he replied, with a smile, "is understood
all over the world." Mozart was really concerned at the thought of
parting with his brother composer, to whom he stood almost in the
relation of a son. When it came to the actual farewell, the tears sprang
to his eyes, and he said affectingly: "This is good-bye; we shall never
meet again." The words proved prophetic. A year later, Mozart was thrown
with a number of paupers into a grave which is now as unknown as the
grave of Moliere. Haydn deeply lamented his loss; and when his thoughts
came to be turned homewards towards the close of his English visit his
saddest reflection was that there would be no Mozart to meet him. His
wretched wife had tried to poison his mind against his friend by writing
that Mozart had been disparaging his genius. "I cannot believe it," he
cried; "if it is true, I will forgive him." It was not true, and Haydn
never believed it. As late as 1807 he burst into tears when Mozart's
name was mentioned, and then, recovering himself, remarked: "Forgive me!
I must ever weep at the name of my Mozart."

Terms for London

But to return. Salomon at length carried the day, and everything was
arranged for the London visit. Haydn was to have 300 pounds for six
symphonies and 200 pounds for the copyright of them; 200 pounds for
twenty new compositions to be produced by himself at the same number of
concerts; and 200 pounds from a benefit concert. The composer paid his
travelling expenses himself, being assisted in that matter by an advance
of 450 florins from the prince, which he refunded within the year. In
order to provide for his wife during his absence he sold his house at
Eisenstadt, the gift of Prince Nicolaus, which had been twice rebuilt
after being destroyed by fire.

Salomon sent advance notices of the engagement to London, and on the
30th of December the public were informed through the Morning Chronicle
that, immediately on his arrival with his distinguished guest, "Mr
Salomon would have the honour of submitting to all lovers of music his
programme for a series of subscription concerts, the success of which
would depend upon their support and approbation." Before leaving for
London Haydn had a tiff with the King of Naples, Ferdinand IV, who was
then in Vienna. The composer had taken him some of the works which he
had been commissioned to write, and His Majesty, thanking him for the
favour, remarked that "We will rehearse them the day after to-morrow."
"The day after to-morrow," replied Haydn, "I shall be on my way to
England." "What!" exclaimed the King, "and you promised to come to
Naples!" With which observation he turned on his heel and indignantly
left the room. Before Haydn had time to recover from his astonishment
Ferdinand was back with a letter of introduction to Prince Castelcicala,
the Neapolitan Ambassador in London; and to show further that the
misunderstanding was merely a passing affair he sent the composer later
in the day a valuable tabatiere as a token of esteem and regard.

Bonn and Beethoven

The journey to London was begun by Haydn and Salomon on the 15th of
December 1790, and the travellers arrived at Bonn on Christmas Day. It
is supposed, with good reason, that Haydn here met Beethoven, then
a youth of twenty, for the first time. Beethoven was a member of the
Electoral Chapel, and we know that Haydn, after having one of his masses
performed and being complimented by the Elector, the musical brother of
Joseph II, entertained the chief musicians at dinner at his lodgings. An
amusing description of the regale may be read in Thayer's biography
of Beethoven. From Bonn the journey was resumed by way of Brussels to
Calais, which was reached in a violent storm and an incessant downpour
of rain. "I am very well, thank God!" writes the composer to Frau
Genzinger, "although somewhat thinner, owing to fatigue, irregular
sleep, and eating and drinking so many different things."

Haydn Sea-Sick

Next morning, after attending early mass, he embarked at 7:30, and
landed at Dover at five o'clock in the afternoon. It was his first
acquaintance with the sea, and, as the weather was rather rough, he
makes no little of it in letters written from London. "I remained on
deck during the whole passage," he says, "in order to gaze my full
at that huge monster—the ocean. So long as there was a calm I had no
fears, but when at length a violent wind began to blow, rising every
minute, and I saw the boisterous high waves running on, I was seized
with a little alarm and a little indisposition likewise." Thus
delicately does he allude to a painful episode.

Arrives in London

Haydn reached London in the opening days of 1791. He passed his first
night at the house of Bland, the music-publisher, at 45 High Holborn,
which now, rebuilt, forms part of the First Avenue Hotel. Bland, it
should have been mentioned before, had been sent over to Vienna by
Salomon to coax Haydn into an engagement in 1787. When he was admitted
on that occasion to Haydn's room, he found the composer in the act of
shaving, complaining the while of the bluntness of his razor. "I would
give my best quartet for a good razor," he exclaimed testily. The hint
was enough for Bland, who immediately hurried off to his lodgings and
fetched a more serviceable tool. Haydn was as good as his word:
he presented Bland with his latest quartet, and the work is still
familiarly known as the "Rasirmesser" (razor) Quartet. The incident
was, no doubt, recalled when Haydn renewed his acquaintance with the
music-publisher.

But Haydn did not remain the guest of Bland. Next day he went to live
with Salomon, at 18 Great Pulteney Street, Golden Square, which—also
rebuilt—is now the warehouse of Messrs Chatto & Windus, the publishers.
[See Musical Haunts in London, by F.G. Edwards, London, 1895] He
described it in one of his letters as "a neat, comfortable lodging,"
and extolled the cooking of his Italian landlord, "who gives us four
excellent dishes." But his frugal mind was staggered at the charges.
"Everything is terribly dear here," he wrote. "We each pay 1 florin 30
kreuzers [about 2s. 8d.] a day, exclusive of wine and beer." This was
bad enough.

An Enthusiastic Welcome

But London made up for it all by the flattering way in which it received
the visitor. People of the highest rank called on him; ambassadors left
cards; the leading musical societies vied with each other in their zeal
to do him honour. Even the poetasters began to twang their lyres in his
praise. Thus Burney, who had been for some time in correspondence with
him, saluted him with an effusion, of which it will suffice to quote the
following lines:

Welcome, great master! to our favoured isle, Already partial to thy name
and style; Long may thy fountain of invention run In streams as rapid
as it first begun; While skill for each fantastic whim provides, And
certain science ev'ry current guides! Oh, may thy days, from human
suff'rings, free, Be blest with glory and felicity, With full fruition,
to a distant hour, Of all thy magic and creative pow'r! Blest in
thyself, with rectitude of mind, And blessing, with thy talents, all
mankind!

Like "the man Sterne" after the publication of Tristram Shandy, he was
soon deep in social engagements for weeks ahead. "I could dine out every
day," he informs his friends in Germany. Shortly after his arrival he
was conducted by the Academy of Ancient Music into a "very handsome
room" adjoining the Freemasons' Hall, and placed at a table where covers
were laid for 200. "It was proposed that I should take a seat near the
top, but as it so happened that I had dined out that very day, and
ate more than usual, I declined the honour, excusing myself under the
pretext of not being very well; but in spite of this, I could not
get off drinking the health, in Burgundy, of the harmonious gentlemen
present. All responded to it, but at last allowed me to go home."
This sort of thing strangely contrasted with the quiet, drowsy life
of Esterhaz; and although Haydn evidently felt flattered by so much
attention, he often expressed a wish that he might escape in order to
have more peace for work.

Ideas of London

His ideas about London were mixed and hesitating. He was chiefly
impressed by the size of the city, a fact which the Londoner of to-day
can only fully appreciate when he remembers that in Haydn's time
Regent Street had not been built and Lisson Grove was a country lane.
Mendelssohn described the metropolis as "that smoky nest which is fated
to be now and ever my favourite residence." But Haydn's regard was less
for the place itself than for the people and the music. The fogs
brought him an uncommonly severe attack of rheumatism, which he naively
describes as "English," and obliged him to wrap up in flannel from head
to foot. The street noises proved a great distraction—almost as much as
they proved to Wagner in 1839, when the composer of "Lohengrin" had to
contend with an organ-grinder at each end of the street! He exclaimed in
particular against "the cries of the common people selling their wares."
It was very distracting, no doubt, for, as a cynic has said, one cannot
compose operas or write books or paint pictures in the midst of a row.
Haydn desired above all things quiet for his work, and so by-and-by, as
a solace for the evils which afflicted his ear, he removed himself
from Great Pulteney Street to Lisson Grove—"in the country amid lovely
scenery, where I live as if I were in a monastery."

Haydn at Court

For the present the dining and the entertaining went on. The 12th of
January found him at the "Crown and Anchor" in the Strand, where the
Anacreonatic Society expressed their respect and admiration in the usual
fashion. The 18th of the same month was the Queen's birthday, and
Haydn was invited to a Court ball in the evening. This was quite an
exceptional distinction, for he had not yet been "presented" at Court.
Probably he owed it to the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. The
Prince was a musical amateur, like his father and his grandfather, whose
enthusiasm for Handel it is hardly necessary to recall. He played the
'cello—"not badly for a Prince," to parody Boccherini's answer to his
royal master—and liked to take his part in glees and catches. Haydn was
charmed by his affability. "He is the handsomest man on God's earth,"
wrote the composer. "He has an extraordinary love for music, and a great
deal of feeling, but very little money." These courtesies to Haydn may
perhaps be allowed to balance the apparent incivility shown to Beethoven
and Weber, who sent compositions to the same royal amateur that were
never so much as acknowledged.

But even the attentions of princes may become irksome and unprofitable.
Haydn soon found that his health and his work were suffering from the
flood of social engagements which London poured upon him. The dinner
hour at this time was six o'clock. He complained that the hour was too
late, and made a resolve to dine at home at four. He wanted his mornings
for composition, and if visitors must see him they would have to wait
till afternoon. Obviously he was beginning to tire of "the trivial
round."

Unreasoning Rivalries

The Salomon concerts should have begun in January, but London, as it
happened, was suffering from one of those unreasoning rivalries which
made a part of Handel's career so miserable, and helped to immortalize
the names of Gluck and Piccini. It is hardly worth reviving the details
of such ephemeral contests now. In the present case the factionists were
to some extent swayed by financial interests; to a still greater extent
by professional jealousies. The trouble seems to have arisen originally
in connection with Gallini's preparations for the opening of a new Opera
House in the Haymarket. Salomon had engaged Cappelletti and David as his
principal vocalists; but these, it appeared, were under contract not to
sing in public before the opening of the Opera House. One faction did
not want to have the Opera House opened at all. They were interested in
the old Pantheon, and contended that a second Italian Opera House was
altogether unnecessary.

Temporarily eclipsed

Salomon's first concert, already postponed to February 25, had been
fixed for the 11th of March, on which date David, by special permission,
was to appear "whether the Opera house was open or not." The delay was
extremely awkward for both Haydn and Salomon, particularly for Haydn. He
had been brought to London with beat of drum, and here he was compelled
to hide his light while the directors of the professional concerts shot
ahead of him and gained the ear of the public before he could assert his
superiority. By this time also the element of professional jealousy
had come into free play. Depreciatory paragraphs appeared in the public
prints "sneering at the composer as 'a nine days' wonder,' whom closer
acquaintance would prove to be inferior to either Cramer or Clementi;
and alluding to the 'proverbial avarice' of the Germans as tempting so
many artists, who met with scanty recognition from their own countrymen
to herald their arrival in England with such a flourish of trumpets as
should charm the money out of the pockets of easily-gulled John Bull."
These pleasantries were continued on rather different lines, when at
length Haydn was in a position to justify the claims made for him.

Band and Baton

Haydn, meanwhile, had been rehearsing the symphony for his opening
concert. Two points are perhaps worth noting here: First, the size and
strength of the Salomon Orchestra; and second, the fact that Haydn did
not, as every conductor does now, direct his forces, baton in hand.
The orchestra numbered between thirty-five and forty performers—a very
small company compared with our Handel Festival and Richter Orchestras,
but in Haydn's time regarded as quite sufficiently strong. There were
sixteen violins, four tenors, three 'celli, four double basses, flutes,
oboes, bassoons, trumpets and drums.

Salomon played the first violin and led the orchestra, and Haydn sat
at the harpsichord, keeping the band together by an occasional chord
or two, as the practice then was. Great composers have not always
been great conductors, but Haydn had a winning way with his band, and
generally succeeded in getting what he wanted.

A Rehersal Incident

An interesting anecdote is told by Dies of his first experience with the
Salomon Orchestra. The symphony began with three single notes, which the
orchestra played much too loudly; Haydn called for less tone a second
and a third time, and still was dissatisfied. He was growing impatient.
At this point he overheard a German player whisper to a neighbour in his
own language: "If the first three notes don't please him, how shall we
get through all the rest?" Thereupon, calling for the loan of a violin,
he illustrated his meaning to such purpose that the band answered to
his requirements in the first attempt. Haydn was naturally at a great
disadvantage with an English orchestra by reason of his ignorance of
the language. It may be true, as he said, that the language of music "is
understood all over the world," but one cannot talk to an orchestra in
crotchets and semi-breves.

The Hanover Square Rooms

At length the date of the first concert arrived, and a brilliant
audience rewarded the enterprise, completely filling the Hanover Square
Rooms, at that time the principal concert hall in London. It had been
opened in 1775 by J. C. Bach, the eleventh son of the great Sebastian,
when the advertisements announced that "the ladies' tickets are red and
the gentlemen's black." It was there that, two years after the date
of which we are writing, "Master Hummel, from Vienna," gave his first
benefit; Liszt appeared in 1840, when the now familiar term "recital"
was first used; Rubinstein made his English debut in 1842; and in the
same year Mendelssohn conducted his Scotch Symphony for the first time
in England. In 1844 the "wonderful little Joachim," then a youth of
thirteen in a short jacket, made the first of his many subsequent visits
to London, and played in the old "Rooms."

Hoops and Swords

So much for the associations of the concert hall in which Haydn directed
some of his finest symphonies. And what about the audiences of Haydn's
time? It was the day of the Sedan chair, when women waddled in hoops,
like that of the lady mentioned in the Spectator, who appeared "as if
she stood in a large drum." Even the royal princesses were, in Pope's
phrase, "armed in ribs of steel" so wide that the Court attendants had
to assist their ungainly figures through the doorways. Swords were still
being worn as a regulation part of full dress, and special weapons were
always provided at a grand concert for the use of the instrumental solo
performers, who, when about to appear on the platform, were girt for
the occasion by an attendant, known as the "sword-bearer." [See Musical
Haunts in London, F. G. Edwards, quoting Dr W. H. Cummings.]

Haydn's first concert, we have said, was an immense success. Burney
records that his appearance in the orchestra "seemed to have an
electrical effect on all present, and he never remembered a performance
where greater enthusiasm was displayed." A wave of musical excitement
appears to have been passing through London, for on this very evening
both Covent Garden and Drury Lane Theatres were packed with audiences
drawn together by the oratorio performances there. Haydn was vastly
pleased at having the slow movement of his symphony encored—an unusual
occurrence in those days—and he spoke of it afterwards as worthy of
mention in his biography. Fresh from the dinner-table, the audience
generally fell asleep during the slow movements! When the novelty of the
Salomon concerts had worn off, many of the listeners lapsed into their
usual somnolence. Most men in Haydn's position would have resented such
inattention by an outburst of temper. Haydn took it good-humouredly, and
resolved to have his little joke.

The "Surprise" Symphony

He wrote the well-known "Surprise" Symphony. The slow movement of this
work opens and proceeds in the most subdued manner, and at the moment
when the audience may be imagined to have comfortably settled for their
nap a sudden explosive fortissimo chord is introduced. "There all the
women will scream," said Haydn, with twinkling eyes. A contemporary
critic read quite a different "programme" into it. "The 'Surprise,'"
he wrote, "might not be inaptly likened to the situation of a beautiful
shepherdess who, lulled to slumber by the murmur of a distant waterfall,
starts alarmed by the unexpected firing of a fowling-piece." One can
fancy the composer's amusement at this highly-imaginative interpretation
of his harmless bit of waggery.

Gallic Excitement

The same success which attended Haydn's first concert marked the rest
of the series. The Prince of Wales's presence at the second concert no
doubt gave a certain "lead" to the musical public. We read in one of
the Gallic newspapers: "It is truly wonderful what sublime and august
thoughts this master weaves into his works. Passages often occur which
it is impossible to listen to without becoming excited—we are carried
away by admiration, and are forced to applaud with hand and mouth. The
Frenchmen here cannot restrain their transports in soft adagios; they
will clap their hands in loud applause and thus mar the effect."

In the midst of all this enthusiasm the factionists were keeping up
their controversy about the opening of Gallini's Theatre. Gallini had
already engaged the services of Haydn, together with an orchestra led
by Salomon, but nothing could be done without the Lord Chamberlain's
license for the performance of operas. To prevent the issue of that
license was the avowed object of the Pantheon management and their
friends. The fight was rendered all the more lively when the Court
divided itself between the opposing interests. "The rival theatre,"
wrote Horace Walpole, "is said to be magnificent and lofty, but it is
doubtful whether it will be suffered to come to light; in short the
contest will grow political; 'Dieu et mon Droit' (the King) supporting
the Pantheon, and 'Ich dien' (the Prince of Wales) countenancing the
Haymarket. It is unlucky that the amplest receptacle is to hold the
minority."

Cantatas, Catches and Choruses

That was how it turned out. The Lord Chamberlain finally refused his
license for operatic performances, and Gallini had to be content with a
license for "entertainments of music and dancing." He opened his house
on the 20th of March, and continued during the season to give mixed
entertainments twice a week. Various works of Haydn's were performed at
these entertainments, including a cantata composed for David, an Italian
catch for seven voices, and the chorus known as "The Storm," a setting
of Peter Pindar's "Hark, the wild uproar of the waves." An opera, "Orfeo
ed Euridice," to which we have already referred, was almost completed,
but its production had necessarily to be abandoned, a circumstance which
must have occasioned him considerable regret in view of the store he set
upon his dramatic work.

Benefit and Other Concerts

On the 16th of May he had a benefit concert, when the receipts exceeded
by 150 pounds the 200 pounds which had been guaranteed. A second benefit
was given on May 30, when "La Passione Instrumentale" (the "Seven Words"
written for Cadiz) was performed. This work was given again on June 10,
at the benefit concert of the "little" Clement, a boy violinist who grew
into the famous artist for whom Beethoven wrote his Violin Concerto.
On this occasion Haydn conducted for Clement, and it is interesting to
observe that Clement took the first violin at the last concert Haydn
ever attended, in March 1808.

Haydn on Handel

In the note-book he kept while in London, one of the entries reads:
"Anno 1791, the last great concert, with 885 persons, was held in
Westminster, Anno 1792, it was transferred to St Margaret's Chapel, with
200 performers. This evoked criticism." Haydn here refers to the Handel
Commemoration Festival, the sixth and last of the century. He
attended that of 1791, and was much impressed with the grandeur of the
performances. A place had been reserved for him near the King's box, and
when the "Hallelujah Chorus" was sung, and the whole audience rose to
their feet, he wept like a child. "Handel is the master of us all," he
sobbed. No one knew the value of Handel's choral work better than Haydn.
After listening at the Concert of Antient Music to the chorus, "The
Nations tremble," from "Joshua," he told Shield that "he had long been
acquainted with music, but never knew half its powers before he heard
it, as he was perfectly certain that only one inspired author ever
did, or ever would, pen so sublime a composition." [See the Appendix to
Shield's Introduction to Harmony.]

Oxford Doctor of Music

Haydn was no Handel, either as man or artist. Handel declined the Doctor
of Music degree with the characteristic remark: "What the devil I throw
my money away for that the blockhead wish?" Haydn did not decline it,
though probably enough he rated the distinction no higher than Handel
did. In the month of July he went down to the Oxford Commemoration, and
was then invested with the degree. Handel's latest biographer, Mr W. S.
Rockstro, says that the Oxford fees would have cost Handel 100 pounds.
Haydn's note of the expense is not so alarming: "I had to pay one and
a half guineas for the bell peals at Oxforth [sic] when I received the
doctor's degree, and half a guinea for the robe." He seems to have found
the ceremonies a little trying, and not unlikely he imagined himself
cutting rather a ridiculous figure in his gorgeous robe of cherry and
cream-coloured silk. At the concert following the investiture he seized
the gown, and, raising it in the air, exclaimed in English, "I thank
you." "I had to walk about for three days in this guise," he afterwards
wrote, "and only wish my Vienna friends could have seen me." Haydn's
"exercise" for the degree was the following "Canon cancrizans, a tre,"
set to the words, "Thy voice, O harmony, is divine."

[figure: a musical score excerpt]

This was subsequently used for the first of the Ten Commandments, the
whole of which he set to canons during his stay in London. Three grand
concerts formed a feature of the Oxford Commemoration.

The "Oxford" Symphony

At the second of these a symphony in G, written in 1787 or 1788, and
since known as the "Oxford," was performed, with the composer at the
organ. He had taken a new symphony with him for the occasion, but owing
to lack of time for rehearsals, the earlier work was substituted.
Of this latter, the Morning Chronicle wrote that "a more wonderful
composition never was heard. The applause given to Haydn was
enthusiastic; but the merit of the work, in the opinion of all the
musicians present, exceeded all praise."

Holiday Relaxations

The London season having now come to an end, Haydn proceeded to recruit
his energies by paying visits to distinguished people at their country
quarters, taking part in river excursions, picnics, and the like. Prince
Esterhazy had sent him a pressing summons to return for a great fete
which was being organized in honour of the Emperor, but having entered
into new engagements with Salomon and others, he found it impossible to
comply. A less indulgent employer would have requited him with instant
dismissal, but all that the prince said when they afterwards met was,
"Ah, Haydn! you might have saved me 40,000 florins." His longest visit
at this time was spent with Mr Brassey, a Lombard Street banker, and
ancestor of the present peer. "The banker," he says, "once cursed
because he enjoyed too much happiness in this world." He gave lessons to
Miss Brassey, and "enjoyed the repose of country life in the midst of
a family circle all cordially devoted to him." In November he was the
guest at two Guildhall banquets—that of the outgoing Lord Mayor on the
5th and that of his successor on the 9th. Of these entertainments he
has left a curious account, and as the memorandum is in English it
may, perhaps, be reproduced here. It runs as follows in Lady Wallace's
translation of the letters:

I was invited to the Lord Mayor's banquet on November 5. At the
first table, No. 1, the new Lord Mayor and his wife dined, the Lord
Chancellor, the two sheriffs, the Duke of Lids [Leeds], the minister
Pitt, and others of the highest rank in the Cabinet. I was seated at
No. 2 with Mr Sylvester, the most celebrated advocate and first King's
counsel in London. In this hall, called the Geld Hall [Guildhall], were
six tables, besides others in the adjoining room. About twelve hundred
persons altogether dined, and everything was in the greatest splendour.
The dishes were very nice and well dressed. Wines of every kind in
abundance. We sat down to dinner at six o'clock and rose from table
at eight. The guests accompanied the Lord Mayor both before and after
dinner in their order of precedence. There were various ceremonies,
sword bearing, and a kind of golden crown, all attended by a band of
wind instruments. After dinner, the whole of the aristocratic guests of
No. 1 withdrew into a private room prepared for them, to have tea and
coffee, while the rest of the company were conducted into another room.
At nine o'clock No. 1 repaired to a small saloon, when the ball began.
There was a raised platform in this room, reserved for the highest
nobility, where the Lord Mayor and his wife were seated on a throne.
Dancing then commenced in due order of precedence, but only one couple
at a time, just as on January 6, the King's birthday. There were raised
benches on both sides of this room with four steps, where the fair sex
chiefly prevailed. Nothing but minuets were danced in this saloon, but
I could only remain for a quarter of an hour, first, because the heat of
so many people assembled in such a narrow space was so oppressive, and,
secondly, on account of the bad music for dancing, the whole orchestra
consisting of two violins and a violoncello; the minuets were more in
the Polish style than in our own, or that of the Italians. I proceeded
into another room, which really was more like a subterranean cave than
anything else; they were dancing English dances, and the music here was
a degree better, as a drum was played by one of the violinists! [This
might be effected by the violin player having the drumstick tied to his
right foot, which was sometimes done.]

I went on to the large hall, where we had dined, and there the orchestra
was more numerous, and the music more tolerable. They were also dancing
English dances, but only opposite the raised platform where the four
first sets had dined with the Lord Mayor. The other tables were all
filled afresh with gentlemen, who as usual drank freely the whole night.
The strangest thing of all was that one part of the company went on
dancing without hearing a single note of the music, for first at one
table, and then at another, songs were shouted, or toasts given, amidst
the most crazy uproar and clinking of glasses and hurrahs. This hall and
all the other rooms were lighted with lamps, of which the effluvia was
most disagreeable, especially in the small ballroom. It was remarkable
that the Lord Mayor had no need of a carving-knife, as a man in the
centre of the table carved everything for him. One man stood before the
Lord Mayor and another behind him, shouting out vociferously all the
toasts in their order according to etiquette, and after each toast came
a flourish of kettledrums and trumpets. No health was more applauded
than that of Mr Pitt. There seemed to be no order. The dinner cost 6,000
pounds, one-half of which is paid by the Lord Mayor, and the other half
by the two sheriffs.

Royalty Again

In this same month—November—he visited the Marionettes at the
Fantoccini Theatre in Saville Row, prompted, no doubt, by old
associations with Esterhaz. On the 24th he went to Oatlands to visit the
Duke of York, who had just married the Princess of Prussia. "I remained
two days," he says, "and enjoyed many marks of graciousness and
honour... On the third day the Duke had me taken twelve miles towards
town with his own horses. The Prince of Wales asked for my portrait.
For two days we made music for four hours each evening, i.e., from ten
o'clock till two hours after midnight. Then we had supper, and at three
o'clock went to bed." After this he proceeded to Cambridge to see the
university, thence to Sir. Patrick Blake's at Langham. Of the Cambridge
visit he writes: "Each university has behind it a very roomy and
beautiful garden, besides stone bridges, in order to afford passage
over the stream which winds past. The King's Chapel is famous for its
carving. It is all of stone, but so delicate that nothing more beautiful
could have been made of wood. It has already stood for 400 years, and
everybody judges its age at about ten years, because of the firmness and
peculiar whiteness of the stone. The students bear themselves like those
at Oxford, but it is said they have better instructors. There are in all
800 students."

From Langham he went to the house of a Mr Shaw, to find in his hostess
the "most beautiful woman I ever saw." Haydn, it may be remarked in
passing, was always meeting the "most beautiful woman." At one time she
was a Mrs Hodges, another of his London admirers. When quite an old man
he still preserved a ribbon which Mrs Shaw had worn during his visit,
and on which his name was embroidered in gold.

Pleyel in Opposition

But other matters now engaged his attention. The directors of the
Professional Concerts, desiring to take advantage of his popularity,
endeavoured to make him cancel his engagements with Salomon and Gallini.
In this they failed. "I will not," said Haydn, "break my word to Gallini
and Salomon, nor shall any desire for dirty gain induce me to do them an
injury. They have run so great a risk and gone to so much expense on
my account that it is only fair they should be the gainers by it."
Thus defeated in their object, the Professionals decided to bring over
Haydn's own pupil, Ignaz Pleyel, to beat the German on his own ground.
It was not easy to upset Haydn's equanimity in an affair of this kind;
his gentle nature, coupled with past experiences, enabled him to take it
all very calmly. "From my youth upwards," he wrote, "I have been exposed
to envy, so it does not surprise me when any attempt is made wholly to
crush my poor talents, but the Almighty above is my support.... There
is no doubt that I find many who are envious of me in London also, and
I know them almost all. Most of them are Italians. But they can do me no
harm, for my credit with this nation has been established far too many
years." As a rule, he was forbearing enough with his rivals. At first
he wrote of Pleyel: "He behaves himself with great modesty." Later on
he remarked that "Pleyel's presumption is everywhere criticized."
Nevertheless, "I go to all his concerts, for I love him." It is very
pleasant to read all this. But how far Haydn's feelings towards Pleyel
were influenced by patriotic considerations it is impossible to say.

The defeated Professionals had a certain advantage by being first in
the field in 1792. But Haydn was only a few days behind them with his
opening concert, and the success of the entire series was in no way
affected by the ridiculous rivalry. Symphonies, divertimenti for
concerted instruments, string quartets, a clavier trio, airs, a cantata,
and other works were all produced at these concerts, and with almost
invariable applause. Nor were Haydn's services entirely confined to
the Salomon concerts. He conducted for various artists, including
Barthelemon, the violinist; Haesler, the pianist; and Madam Mara, of
whom he tells that she was hissed at Oxford for not rising during the
"Hallelujah" Chorus.

Close of the Season

The last concert was given on June 6 "by desire," when Haydn's
compositions were received with "an extasy of admiration." Thus
Salomon's season ended, as the Morning Chronicle put it, with the
greatest eclat. Haydn's subsequent movements need not detain us long.
He made excursions to Windsor Castle and to Ascot "to see the races," of
which he has given an account in his note-book.

Herschel and Haydn

From Ascot he went to Slough, where he was introduced to Herschel. In
this case there was something like real community of tastes, for the
astronomer was musical, having once played the oboe, and later on acted
as organist, first at Halifax Parish Church, and then at the Octagon
Chapel Bath. The big telescope with which he discovered the planet
Uranus in 1781 was an object of great interest to Haydn, who was
evidently amazed at the idea of a man sitting out of doors "in the most
intense cold for five or six hours at a time."

Visits were also paid to Vauxhall Gardens, where "the music is
fairly good" and "coffee and milk cost nothing." "The place and its
diversions," adds Haydn, "have no equal in the world."

At St Paul's

But the most interesting event of this time to Haydn was the meeting of
the Charity Children in St Paul's Cathedral, when something like 4000
juveniles took part. "I was more touched," he says in his diary, "by
this innocent and reverent music than by any I ever heard in my life!"
And then he notes the following chant by John Jones: [Jones was organist
of St Paul's Cathedral at this time. His chant, which was really in the
key of D, has since been supplanted. Haydn made an error in bar 12.]

[Figure: a musical score excerpt]

Curiously enough Berlioz was impressed exactly in the same way when he
heard the Charity Children in 1851. He was in London as a juror at the
Great Exhibition; and along with his friend, the late G. A. Osborne, he
donned a surplice and sang bass in the select choir. He was so moved by
the children's singing that he hid his face behind his music and wept.
"It was," he says, "the realization of one part of my dreams, and a
proof that the powerful effect of musical masses is still absolutely
unknown." [See Berlioz's Life and Letters, English edition, Vol. I., p.
281.]

London Acquaintances

Haydn made many interesting acquaintances during this London visit.
Besides those already mentioned, there was Bartolozzi, the famous
engraver, to whose wife he dedicated three clavier trios and a sonata
in E flat (Op. 78), which, so far unprinted in Germany, is given by
Sterndale Bennett in his Classical Practice. There was also John Hunter,
described by Haydn as "the greatest and most celebrated chyrurgus in
London," who vainly tried to persuade him to have a polypus removed from
his nose. It was Mrs Hunter who wrote the words for most of his English
canzonets, including the charming "My mother bids me bind my hair." And
then there was Mrs Billington, the famous singer, whom Michael Kelly
describes as "an angel of beauty and the Saint Cecilia of song." There
is no more familiar anecdote than that which connects Haydn with Sir
Joshua Reynolds's portrait of this notorious character. Carpani
is responsible for the tale. He says that Haydn one day found Mrs
Billington sitting to Reynolds, who was painting her as St Cecilia
listening to the angels. "It is like," said Haydn, "but there is a
strange mistake." "What is that?" asked Reynolds. "You have painted
her listening to the angels. You ought to have represented the angels
listening to her." It is a very pretty story, but it cannot possibly
be true. Reynolds's portrait of Mrs Billington was painted in 1789,
two years before Haydn's arrival, and was actually shown in the Academy
Exhibition of 1790, the last to which Sir Joshua contributed. [The
portrait, a whole length, was sold in 1798 for 325 pounds, 10s., and
again at Christie's, in 1845, for 505 guineas—to an American, as
usual.] Of course Haydn may have made the witty remark here attributed
to him, but it cannot have been at the time of the painting of the
portrait. That he was an enthusiastic admirer of Mrs Billington there
can be no doubt.

Another Romance

There was another intimacy of more import, about which it is necessary
to speak at some length. When Dies published his biography of Haydn
in 1810 he referred to a batch of love-letters written to the composer
during this visit to London. The existence of the letters was known
to Pohl, who devotes a part of his Haydn in London to them, and prints
certain extracts; but the letters themselves do not appear to have been
printed either in the original English or in a German translation until
Mr Henry E. Krehbiel, the well-known American musical critic, gave them
to the world through the columns of the New York Tribune. Mr Krehbiel
was enabled to do this by coming into possession of a transcript of
Haydn's London note-book, with which we will deal presently. Haydn, as
he informs us, had copied all the letters out in full, "a proceeding
which tells its own story touching his feelings towards the missives and
their fair author." He preserved them most carefully among the souvenirs
of his visit, and when Dies asked him about them, he replied: "They are
letters from an English widow in London who loved me. Though sixty years
old, she was still lovely and amiable, and I should in all likelihood
have married her if I had been single." Who was the lady thus
celebrated? In Haydn's note-book the following entry occurs: "Mistress
Schroeter, No. 6 James Street, Buckingham Gate." The inquiry is here
answered: Mistress Schroeter was the lady.

Mistress Schroeter

Haydn, it will be seen, describes her as a widow of sixty. According
to Goldsmith, women and music should never be dated; but in the present
case, there is a not unnatural curiosity to discover the lady's age. Mr
Krehbiel gives good grounds for doubting Haydn's statement that Mistress
Schroeter was sixty when he met her. She had been married to Johann
Samuel Schroeter, an excellent German musician, who settled in London
in 1772. Schroeter died in 1788, three years before the date of Haydn's
visit, when he was just thirty-eight. Now Dr Burney, who must have known
the family, says that Schroeter "married a young lady of considerable
fortune, who was his scholar, and was in easy circumstances." If,
therefore, Mrs Schroeter was sixty years old when Haydn made her
acquaintance, she must have been nineteen years her husband's senior,
and could not very well be described as a "young" lady at the time of
her marriage.

It is, however, unnecessary to dwell upon the matter of age. The
interesting point is that Haydn fell under the spell of the charming
widow. There is no account of their first meeting; but it was probably
of a purely professional nature. Towards the end of June 1791 the lady
writes: "Mrs Schroeter presents her compliments to Mr Haydn, and informs
him she is just returned to town, and will be very happy to see him
whenever it is convenient to him to give her a lesson." A woman of sixty
should hardly have been requiring lessons, especially after having been
the wife of a professor who succeeded the "English Bach" as music-master
to the Queen. But lessons sometimes cover a good deal of love-making,
and that was clearly the case with Haydn and Mrs Schroeter.

Love Letters

There is indeed some reason to doubt if the lessons were continued. At
any rate, by February 1792, the affair had ripened so far as to allow
the lady to address the composer as "my dear," and disclose her tender
solicitude for his health. On the 7th of the following month she writes
that she was "extremely sorry" to part with him so suddenly the previous
night. "Our conversation was particularly interesting, and I had a
thousand affectionate things to say to you. My heart was and is full
of tenderness for you, but no language can express half the love and
affection I feel for you. You are dearer to me every day of my life."

This was pretty warm, considering that Haydn was still in the bonds
of wedlock. We cannot tell how far he reciprocated the feeling, his
letters, if he wrote any, not having been preserved; but it may be
safely inferred that a lady who was to be "happy to see you both in the
morning and the evening" did not do all the love-making. On the 4th of
April the composer gets a present of soap, and is the "ever dear Haydn"
of the "invariable and truly affectionate" Mistress Schroeter. He had
been working too hard about this particular date (he notes that he was
"bled in London" on the 17th of March), and on the 12th the "loveress,"
to use Marjorie Fleming's term, is "truly anxious" about her "dear
love," for whom her regard is "stronger every day." An extract from the
letter of April 19 may be quoted as it stands:

I was extremely sorry to hear this morning that you were indisposed. I
am told you were five hours at your studies yesterday. Indeed, my dear
love, I am afraid it will hurt you. Why should you, who have already
produced so many wonderful and charming compositions, still fatigue
yourself with such close application? I almost tremble for your health.
Let me prevail on you, my much-loved Haydn, not to keep to your studies
so long at one time. My dear love, if you could know how very precious
your welfare is to me, I flatter myself you would endeavour to preserve
it for my sake as well as your own.

Come Early

The next letter shows that Haydn had been deriving some profit from
Mistress Schroeter's affections by setting her to work as an amanuensis.
She has been copying out a march, and is sorry that she has not done it
better. "If my Haydn would employ me oftener to write music, I hope
I should improve; and I know I should delight in the occupation."
Invitations to dine at St James's Street are repeatedly being sent, for
Mistress Schroeter wishes "to have as much of your company as possible."
When others are expected, Haydn is to come early, so that they may
have some time together "before the rest of our friends come." Does the
adored Schroeter go to one of her "dearest love's" concerts, she
thanks him a thousand times for the entertainment. "Where your sweet
compositions and your excellent performance combine," she writes, "it
cannot fail of being the most charming concert; but, apart from that,
the pleasure of seeing you must ever give me infinite satisfaction." As
the time drew near for Haydn's departure, "every moment of your
company is more and more precious to me." She begs to assure him with
"heart-felt affection" that she will ever consider the acquaintance with
him as one of the chief blessings of her life. Nay, she entertains for
her "dearest Haydn" "the fondest and tenderest affection the human heart
is capable of." And so on.

An Innocent Amourette

One feels almost brutally rude in breaking in upon the privacy of
this little romance. No doubt the flirtation was inexcusable enough on
certain grounds. But taking the whole circumstances into account—above
all, the loveless, childless home of the composer—the biographer
is disposed to see in the episode merely that human yearning after
affection and sympathy which had been denied to Haydn where he had most
right to expect them. He admitted that he was apt to be fascinated by
pretty and amiable women, and the woman to whom he had given his name
was neither pretty nor amiable. An ancient philosopher has said that a
man should never marry a plain woman, since his affections would always
be in danger of straying when he met a beauty. This incident in Haydn's
career would seem to support the philosopher's contention. For the rest,
it was probably harmless enough, for there is nothing to show that the
severer codes of morality were infringed.

The biographers of Haydn have not succeeded in discovering how the
Schroeter amourette ended. The letters printed by Mr Krehbiel are all
confined to the year 1792, and mention is nowhere made of any of later
date. When Haydn returned to London in 1794, he occupied rooms at No. 1
Bury Street, St James', and Pohl suggests that he may have owed the more
pleasant quarters to his old admirer, who would naturally be anxious to
have him as near her as possible. A short walk of ten minutes through St
James' Park and the Mall would bring him to Buckingham Palace, and
from that to Mrs Schroeter's was only a stone-throw. Whether the old
affectionate relations were resumed it is impossible to say. If there
were any letters of the second London visit, it is curious that Haydn
should not have preserved them with the rest. There is no ground for
supposing that any disagreement came between the pair: the facts point
rather the other way. When Haydn finally said farewell to London, he
left the scores of his six last symphonies "in the hands of a lady."
Pohl thinks the lady was Mrs Schroeter, and doubtless he is right.
At any rate Haydn's esteem for her, to use no stronger term, is
sufficiently emphasized by his having inscribed to her the three trios
numbered 1, 2 and 6 in the Breitkopf & Hartel list.

Haydn's Note-Book

Reference has already been made to the diary or note-book kept by Haydn
during his visit. The original manuscript of this curious document
came into the hands of his friend, Joseph Weigl, whose father had been
'cellist to Prince Esterhazy. A similar diary was kept during the
second visit, but this was lost; and indeed the first note-book narrowly
escaped destruction at the hands of a careless domestic. Haydn's
autograph was at one time in the possession of Dr Pohl. A copy of it
made by A. W. Thayer, the biographer of Beethoven, in 1862, became,
as previously stated, the property of Mr Krehbiel, who has printed
the entries, with running comment, in his "Music and Manners in the
Classical Period" (London, 1898). Mr Krehbiel rightly describes some
of the entries as mere "vague mnemonic hints," and adds that one entry
which descants in epigrammatic fashion on the comparative morals of the
women of France, Holland and England is unfit for publication. Looking
over the diary, it is instructive to observe how little reference
is made to music. One or two of the entries are plainly memoranda of
purchases to be made for friends. There is one note about the National
Debt of England, another about the trial of Warren Hastings. London, we
learn, has 4000 carts for cleaning the streets, and consumes annually
800,000 cartloads of coals. That scandalous book, the Memoirs of Mrs
Billington, which had just been published, forms the subject of a long
entry. "It is said that her [Mrs Billington's] character is very faulty,
but nevertheless she is a great genius, and all the women hate her
because she is so beautiful."

Prince of Wale's Punch

A note is made of the constituents of the Prince of Wales's punch—"One
bottle champagne, one bottle Burgundy, one bottle rum, ten lemons, two
oranges, pound and a half of sugar." A process for preserving milk "for
a long time" is also described. We read that on the 5th of November
(1791) "there was a fog so thick that one might have spread it on bread.
In order to write I had to light a candle as early as eleven o'clock."
Here is a curious item—"In the month of June 1792 a chicken, 7s.; an
Indian [a kind of bittern found in North America] 9s.; a dozen larks, 1
coron [? crown]. N.B.—If plucked, a duck, 5s."

Haydn liked a good story, and when he heard one made a note of it. The
diary contains two such stories. One is headed "Anectod," and runs: "At
a grand concert, as the director was about to begin the first number,
the kettledrummer called loudly to him, asking him to wait a moment,
because his two drums were not in tune. The leader could not and would
not wait any longer, and told the drummer to transpose for the present."
The second story is equally good. "An Archbishop of London, having asked
Parliament to silence a preacher of the Moravian religion who preached
in public, the Vice-President answered that could easily be done: only
make him a Bishop, and he would keep silent all his life."

On the whole the note-book cannot be described as of strong biographical
interest, but a reading of its contents as translated by Mr Krehbiel
will certainly help towards an appreciation of the personal character of
the composer.

Haydn left London some time towards the end of June 1792. He had
intended to visit Berlin, in response to an invitation from King
Frederick William II., but he altered his route in order to meet Prince
Anton Esterhazy, who was at Frankfort for the coronation of the Emperor
Francis II.

Beethoven

A more interesting meeting took place at Bonn. Beethoven, then a young
man of twenty-two, was still living with his people in the Wenzegasse,
but already arrangements had been made by the Elector for his paying a
somewhat lengthened visit to Vienna in order to prosecute his studies
there. Since the death of Mozart, Haydn had become the most brilliant
star in the musical firmament, and it was only natural that the rising
genius should look to him for practical help and encouragement. It so
happened that the Elector's Band, of which Beethoven was a member, gave
a dinner to Haydn at Godesberg. The occasion was opportune. Beethoven
submitted a cantata to the guest of the evening which Haydn "greatly
praised, warmly encouraging the composer to proceed with his studies."
The name of the cantata has not been ascertained, though Thayer
conjectures it to have been on the death of the Emperor Leopold II.

Whatever it was, the fact of Haydn's approval would make it an easy
matter to discuss the subject of lessons, whether now or later.
Beethoven did not start for Vienna until November, and it appears that
immediately before that date some formal communication had been made
with Haydn in reference to his studies. On the 29th of October Count
Waldstein wrote:

"DEAR BEETHOVEN,—You are travelling to Vienna in fulfillment of your
long-cherished wish. The genius of Mozart is still weeping and bewailing
the death of her favourite. With the inexhaustible Haydn she found a
refuge, but no occupation, and is now waiting to leave him and join
herself to someone else. Labour assiduously, and receive Mozart's spirit
from the hands of Haydn."

This was not exactly complimentary to Haydn, but Beethoven doubtless had
the good sense not to repeat the count's words. When the young artist
arrived in Vienna, he found Haydn living at the Hamberger Haus, No.
992 (since demolished), and thither he went for his lessons. From
Beethoven's own notes of expenses we find that his first payment was
made to Haydn on December 12. The sum entered is 8 groschen (about
9 1/2 d.), which shows at least that Haydn was not extravagant in
his charges.

Master and Pupil

Beethoven's studies were in strict counterpoint, and the text-book was
that same "Gradus ad Parnassum" of Fux which Haydn had himself contended
with in the old days at St Stephen's. How many exercises Beethoven wrote
cannot be said, but 245 have been preserved, of which, according to
Nottebohm, Haydn corrected only forty-two. Much ink has been wasted in
discussing the relations of these distinguished composers. There is no
denying that Haydn neglected his young pupil, but one may find another
excuse for the neglect besides that of his increasing age and his
engrossing occupations. Beethoven was already a musical revolutionist:
Haydn was content to walk in the old ways. The two men belonged almost
to different centuries, and the disposition which the younger artist
had for "splendid experiments" must have seemed to the mature musician
little better than madness and licentious irregularity. "He will never
do anything in decent style," was Albrechtsberger's dictum after giving
Beethoven a series of lessons.

Haydn's opinion of Beethoven's future was not so dogmatically expressed;
but he must have been sorely puzzled by a pupil who looked upon even
consecutive fifths as an open question, and thought it a good thing to
"learn occasionally what is according to rule that one may hereafter
come to what is contrary to rule." It is said that Haydn persisted
in regarding Beethoven, not as a composer at all but as a pianoforte
player; and certainly Beethoven regarded Haydn as being behind the age.
That he was unjust to Haydn cannot be gainsaid. He even went so far as
to suspect Haydn of willfully trying to retard him in his studies, a
proceeding of which Haydn was altogether incapable. For many years he
continued to discharge splenetic remarks about his music, and he was
always annoyed at being called his pupil. "I never learned anything from
Haydn," he would say; "he never would correct my mistakes." When, the
day after the production of his ballet music to Prometheus, he met Haydn
in the street, the old man observed to him: "I heard your music last
night; I liked it very well." To which Beethoven, alluding to Haydn's
oratorio, replied: "Oh! dear master, it is far from being a CREATION."
The doubtful sincerity of this remark may be inferred from an anecdote
quoted by Moscheles. Haydn had been told that Beethoven was speaking
depreciatingly of "The Creation." "That is wrong of him," he said. "What
has HE written, then? His Septet? Certainly that is beautiful; nay,
splendid."

Beethoven on Haydn

It is hardly necessary to say who comes out best in these passages
at arms. Yet we must not be too hard on Beethoven. That he recognized
Haydn's genius as a composer no careful reader of his biography can
fail to see. As Pohl takes pains to point out, he spoke highly of
Haydn whenever opportunity offered, often chose one of his themes when
improvising in public, scored one of his quartets for his own use, and
lovingly preserved the autograph of one of the English symphonies. That
he came in the end to realize his true greatness is amply proved by
the story already related which represents him as exclaiming on his
death-bed upon the fact of Haydn having been born in a common peasant's
cottage.

In the meantime, although Beethoven was dissatisfied with his progress
under Haydn, there was no open breach between the two. It is true that
the young musician sought another teacher—one Schenck, a well-known
Viennese composer—but this was done without Haydn's knowledge, out of
consideration, we may assume, for his feelings. That master and pupil
were still on the best of terms may be gathered from their having been
at Eisenstadt together during the summer of 1793. In the January of
the following year Haydn set out on his second visit to England, and
Beethoven transferred himself to Albrechtsberger.

The Haydn Museum

Haydn's life in Vienna during the eighteen months which intervened
between the two London visits was almost totally devoid of incident. His
wife, it will be remembered, had written to him in England, asking for
money to buy a certain house which she fancied for a "widow's home."
Haydn was astute enough not to send the money, but on his return to
Vienna, finding the house in every way to his liking, he bought
it himself. Frau Haydn died seven years later, "and now," said the
composer, speaking in 1806, "I am living in it as a widower." The house
is situated in the suburb of Vienna known as Gumpendorf. It is No. 19
of the Haydngasse and bears a marble memorial tablet, affixed to it in
1840. The pious care of the composer's admirers has preserved it almost
exactly as it was in Haydn's day, and has turned it into a kind of
museum containing portraits and mementoes of the master, the original
manuscript of "The Creation," and other interesting relics.

Starts for London

Haydn started on his journey to England on January 19, 1794, Salomon
having brought him, under a promise to return with six new symphonies
which he was to conduct in person. This time he travelled down the
Rhine, and he had not been many days on the way when news reached him of
the death of Prince Anton Esterhazy, who had very reluctantly given him
leave of absence. On the occasion of the first London visit Salomon had
been his travelling companion; now, feeling doubtless the encumbrance
of increasing years, Haydn took his servant and copyist, Johann Elssler,
along with him.

Honest Elssler

It may be noted in passing that he entertained a very warm regard for
Elssler, whose father had been music copyist to Prince Esterhazy. He was
born at Eisenstadt in 1769, and, according to Pohl, lived the whole of
his life with Haydn, first as copyist, and then as general servant and
factotum. It was Elssler who tended the composer in his last years, a
service recompensed by the handsome bequest of 6000 florins, which he
lived to enjoy until 1843. No man, it has been said, is a hero to his
valet, but "Haydn was to Elssler a constant subject of veneration, which
he carried so far that when he thought himself unobserved he would stop
with the censer before his master's portrait as if it were the altar."
This "true and honest servant" copied a large amount of Haydn's
music, partly in score, partly in separate parts, much of which is now
treasured as the autograph of Haydn, though the handwritings of the two
are essentially different. It is a pity that none of the earlier writers
on Haydn thought of applying to Elssler for particulars of the private
life of the composer. He could have given information on many obscure
points, and could have amplified the details of this second London
visit, about which we know much less than we know about the former
visit.

The Salomon Concerts

Salomon's first concert had been arranged for the 3rd of February, but
Haydn did not arrive until the 4th, and the series accordingly began
upon the 10th. Twelve concerts were given in all, and with the most
brilliant success. The six new symphonies commissioned by Salomon were
performed, and the previous set were also repeated, along with some new
quartets. Of the many contemporary notices of the period, perhaps the
most interesting is that which appears in the Journal of Luxury and
Fashion, published at Weimar in July 1794. It is in the form of a London
letter, written on March 25, under the heading of "On the Present State
and Fashion of Music in England." After speaking of Salomon's efforts
on behalf of classical music and of the praise due to him for his
performance of the quartets of "our old favourite, Haydn," the writer
continues: "But what would you now say to his new symphonies composed
expressly for these concerts, and directed by himself at the piano? It
is truly wonderful what sublime and august thoughts this master weaves
into his works. Passages often occur which render it impossible to
listen to them without becoming excited. We are altogether carried
away by admiration, and forced to applaud with hand and mouth. This is
especially the case with Frenchmen, of whom we have so many here that
all public places are filled with them. You know that they have great
sensibility, and cannot restrain their transports, so that in the midst
of the finest passages in soft adagios they clap their hands in loud
applause and thus mar the effect. In every symphony of Haydn the adagio
or andante is sure to be repeated each time, after the most vehement
encores. The worthy Haydn, whose personal acquaintance I highly value,
conducts himself on these occasions in the most modest manner. He is
indeed a good-hearted, candid, honest man, esteemed and beloved by all."

Several notable incidents occurred at the Salomon Concerts. It has been
remarked, as "an event of some interest in musical history," that Haydn
and Wilhelm Cramer appeared together at one concert, Cramer as leader of
the orchestra, Haydn conducting from the pianoforte. But Cramer was
not a genius of the first rank—his compositions are of the slightest
importance—and there was nothing singular about his appearing along
with Haydn. He had been leader at the Handel Festivals at Westminster
Abbey in 1784 and 1787, and was just the man to be engaged for an
enterprise like that of Salomon's.

A "Smart" Drummer

An anecdote told of Haydn in connection with one of the rehearsals is
better worth noting. The drummer was found to be absent. "Can anyone
here play the drum?" inquired Haydn, looking round from his seat at the
piano. "I can," promptly replied young George (afterwards Sir George)
Smart, who was sitting among the violinists. Smart, who lived to become
the doyen of the musical profession in England, had never handled a
drumstick before, and naturally failed to satisfy the conductor. Haydn
took the drumstick from him and "showed to the astonished orchestra a
new and unexpected attitude in their leader." Then, turning to Smart,
he remarked: "That is how we use the drumsticks in Germany." "Oh, very
well," replied the unabashed youth, "if you like it better in that way
we can also do it so in London."

New Acquaintances

Haydn made several new acquaintances during this visit, the most notable
being, perhaps, Dragonetti, the famous double-bass player, who had
accompanied Banti, the eminent prima donna, to London in 1794. Banti had
been discovered as a chanteuse in a Paris cafe, and afterwards attracted
much notice by her fine voice both in Paris and London. "She is the
first singer in Italy, and drinks a bottle of wine every day," said one
who knew her. In her journeys through Germany, Austria and Italy she won
many triumphs. Haydn composed for her an air, "Non Partir," in E, which
she sang at his benefit. As for "Old Drag," the familiar designation of
the distinguished bassist, his eccentricities must have provided Haydn
with no little amusement. He always took his dog Carlo with him into the
orchestra, and Henry Phillips tells us that, having a strange weakness
for dolls, he often carried one of them to the festivals as his wife!
On his way to Italy in 1798 Dragonetti visited Haydn in Vienna, and was
much delighted with the score of "The Creation," just completed. Several
eminent violinists were in London at the time of Haydn's visit. The most
distinguished of them was perhaps Felice de Giardini, who, at the age of
fourscore, produced an oratorio at Ranelagh Gardens, and even played
a concerto. He had a perfectly volcanic temper, and hated Haydn as the
devil is said to hate holy water. "I don't wish to see the German dog,"
he remarked in the composer's hearing, when urged to pay him a visit.
Haydn, as a rule, was kindly disposed to all brother artists, but to be
called a dog was too much, He went to hear Giardini, and then got even
with him by noting in his diary that he "played like a pig."

The accounts preserved of Haydn's second visit to England are,
as already remarked, far less full than those of the first visit.
Unconnected memoranda appear in his diary, some of which are given by
Griesinger and Dies; but they are of comparatively little interest.
During the summer of 1794 he moved about the country a good deal. Thus,
about the 26th of August, he paid a visit to Waverley Abbey, whose
"Annales Waverliensis" suggested to Scott the name of his first romance.
The ruined condition of the venerable pile—it dates from 1128—set
Haydn moralizing on the "Protestant heresy" which led the "rascal mob"
to tear down "what had once been a stronghold of his own religion."

Haydn at Bath

In the following month he spent three days in Bath with Dr Burney,
and Rauzzini, the famous tenor, who had retired to the fashionable
watering-place after a successful career of thirteen years as a singer
and teacher in London. Rauzzini is little more than a name now, but for
Haydn's sake it is worth recalling his memory. Born at Rome in 1747,
his striking beauty of face and figure had drawn him into certain
entanglements which made it expedient for him to leave his native land.
He was as fond of animals as Dragonetti was of dolls, and had erected a
memorial tablet in his garden to his "best friend," otherwise his dog.
"Turk was a faithful dog and not a man," ran the inscription, which
reminds one of Schopenhauer's cynical observation that if it were not
for the honest faces of dogs, we should forget the very existence of
sincerity. When Haydn read the inscription he immediately proceeded to
make use of the words for a four-part canon. It was presumably at this
time that he became acquainted with Dr Henry Harington, the musician
and author, who had removed to Bath in 1771, where he had founded the
Harmonic Society. Haydn dedicated one of his songs to him in return for
certain music and verses, which explains the following otherwise cryptic
note of Clementi's, published for the first time recently by Mr J. S.
Shedlock: "The first Dr [Harington] having bestowed much praise on
the second Dr [Haydn], the said second Dr, out of doctorial gratitude,
returns the 1st Dr thanks for all favours recd., and praises in his
turn the said 1st Dr most handsomely." The title of Haydn's song was "Dr
Harington's Compliments."

Opera Concerts

The composer returned to London at the beginning of October for the
winter season's concerts. These began, as before, in February, and were
continued once a week up to the month of May. This time they took the
form of opera concerts, and were given at the "National School of Music"
in the new concert-room of the King's Theatre. No fresh symphonies were
contributed by Haydn for this series, though some of the old ones always
found a place in the programmes. Two extra concerts were given on May
21 and June 1, at both of which Haydn appeared; but the composer's last
benefit concert was held on May 4. On this occasion the programme
was entirely confined to his own compositions, with the exception of
concertos by Viotti, the violinist, and Ferlendis, the oboist. Banti
sang the aria already mentioned as having been written expressly for
her, but, according to the composer, "sang very scanty." The main
thing, however, was that the concert proved a financial success, the net
receipts amounting to 400 pounds. "It is only in England," said Haydn,
"that one can make 4000 gulden in one evening."

Haydn did indeed remarkably well in London. As Pohl says, "he returned
from it with increased powers, unlimited fame, and a competence for
life. By concerts, lessons, and symphonies, not counting his other
compositions, he had again made 1200 pounds, enough to relieve him from
all anxiety as to the future. He often said afterwards that it was not
till he had been to England that he became famous in Germany; by which
he meant that although his reputation was high at home, the English were
the first to give him public homage and liberal remuneration."

Kingly Courtesies

It is superfluous to say that Haydn was as much of a "lion" in London
society during his second visit as he had been on the previous occasion.
The attention bestowed on him in royal circles made that certain, for
"society" are sheep, and royalty is their bell-wether. The Prince
of Wales had rather a fancy for him, and commanded his attendance at
Carlton House no fewer than twenty-six times. At one concert at York
House the programme was entirely devoted to his music. George III and
Queen Caroline were present, and Haydn was presented to the King by the
Prince. "You have written a great deal, Dr Haydn," said the King. "Yes,
sire," was the reply; "more than is good for me." "Certainly not,"
rejoined His Majesty. He was then presented to the Queen, and asked to
sing some German songs. "My voice," he said, pointing to the tip of
his little finger, "is now no bigger than that"; but he sat down to
the pianoforte and sang his song, "Ich bin der Verliebteste." He was
repeatedly invited by the Queen to Buckingham Palace, and she tried to
persuade him to settle in England. "You shall have a house at Windsor
during the summer months," she said, and then, looking towards the King,
added, "We can sometimes make music tete-a-tete." "Oh! I am not jealous
of Haydn," interposed the King; "he is a good, honourable German." "To
preserve that reputation," replied Haydn, "is my greatest pride."

Most of Haydn's appearances were made at the concerts regularly
organized for the entertainment of royalty at Carlton House and
Buckingham Palace, and Haydn looked to be paid for his services. Whether
the King and the Prince expected him to give these services in return
for the supposed honour they had conferred upon him does not appear.
At all events, Haydn sent in a bill for 100 guineas sometime after his
return to Vienna, and the amount was promptly paid by Parliament.

A Valuable Parrot

Among the other attentions bestowed upon him while in London, mention
should be made of the present of a talking parrot. Haydn took the bird
with him, and it was sold for 140 pounds after his death. Another gift
followed him to Vienna. A Leicester manufacturer named Gardiner—he
wrote a book on The Music of Nature, and other works—sent him half a
dozen pairs of cotton stockings, into which were woven the notes of the
Austrian Hymn, "My mother bids me bind my hair," the Andante from
the "Surprise" Symphony, and other thematic material. These musical
stockings, as a wit has observed, must have come as a REAL surprise
to Haydn. It was this same Leicester manufacturer, we may remark
parenthetically, who annotated the translation of Bombet's Life of
Haydn, made by his fellow-townsman, Robert Brewin, in 1817.

Haydn's return from London was hastened by the receipt of a
communication from Esterhaz. Prince Anton had been succeeded by his
son Nicolaus, who was as fond of music as the rest of his family, and
desired to keep his musical establishment up to the old standard. During
the summer of 1794 he had written to Haydn, asking if the composer would
care to retain his appointment as director. Haydn was only too glad to
assent; and now that his London engagements were fulfilled, he saw no
reason for remaining longer in England. Accordingly he started for home
on the 15th of August 1795, travelling by way of Hamburg, Berlin and
Dresden, and arriving at Vienna in the early days of September.

Rohrau Reminiscences

Soon after his return he was surprised to receive an invitation to visit
his native Rohrau. When he arrived there he found that a monument, with
a marble bust of himself, had been erected to his honour in a park near
his birthplace. This interesting memorial consists of a square pillar
surmounting three stone steps, with an inscription on each side. The
visit was productive of mingled feelings to Haydn. He took his friends
to see the old thatch-roofed cottage, and, pointing to the familiar
stove, still in its place, modestly remarked that there his career as a
musician began—a reminiscence of the now far-away time when he sat by
his father's side and sawed away on his improvised fiddle.

Esterhaz once more

There is little to say about Haydn's labours as Capellmeister of the
Esterhazy household at this time. Apparently he was only at Eisenstadt
for the summer and autumn. Down to 1802, however, he always had a mass
ready for Princess Esterhazy's name-day in September. These compositions
are Nos. 2, 1, 3, 16, 4 and 6 of the Novello edition. No. 2, Pohl tells
us, was composed in 1796, and called the "Paukenmesse," from the fact
of the drums being used in the Agnus. No. 3 was written in 1797. It
is known in England as the Imperial Mass, but in Germany as "Die
Nelsonmesse," on account of its having been performed during Nelson's
visit to Eisenstadt in 1800. On that occasion Nelson asked Haydn for his
pen, and gave him his own gold watch in exchange.

The Austrian Hymn

It was shortly after his return to Vienna—in January 1797, to be
precise—that he composed his favourite air, "God preserve the Emperor,"
better known as the Austrian Hymn. The story of this celebrated
composition is worth telling with some minuteness. Its inception was
due to Count von Saurau, Imperial High Chancellor and Minister of the
Interior. Writing in 1820, the count said:

I often regretted that we had not, like the English, a national air
calculated to display to all the world the loyal devotion of our people
to the kind and upright ruler of our Fatherland, and to awaken
within the hearts of all good Austrians that noble national pride
so indispensable to the energetic fulfillment of all the beneficial
measures of the sovereign. This seemed to me more urgent at a period
when the French Revolution was raging most furiously, and when the
Jacobins cherished the idle hope of finding among the worthy Viennese
partisans and participators in their criminal designs. [The scandalous
Jacobin persecutions and executions in Austria and Hungary took place
in 1796]. I caused that meritorious poet Haschka to write the words,
and applied to our immortal countryman Haydn to set them to music, for I
considered him alone capable of writing anything approaching in merit
to the English "God save the King." Such was the origin of our national
hymn.

It would not have been difficult to match "God save the King," the
mediocrity of which, especially as regards the words, has been the butt
of countless satirists. Beethoven wrote in his diary that he "must show
the English what a blessing they have" in that "national disgrace." If
Haydn regarded it as a "blessing," he certainly did not take it as a
model. He produced an air which, looking at it from a purely artistic
point of view, is the best thing of the national anthem kind that has
ever been written. The Emperor was enchanted with it when sung on his
birthday, February 12, 1797, at the National Theatre in Vienna, and
through Count Saurau sent the composer a gold box adorned with a
facsimile of the royal features. "Such a surprise and such a mark of
favour, especially as regards the portrait of my beloved monarch," wrote
Haydn, "I never before received in acknowledgment of my poor talents."

Haydn's Love for It

We have several indications of Haydn's predilection for this fine air,
which has long been popular as a hymn tune in all the churches. He
wrote a set of variations for it as the Andante of his "Kaiser Quartet."
Griesinger tells us, too, that as often as the warm weather and his
strength permitted, during the last few years of his life, he used to be
led into his back room that he might play it on the piano. It is further
related by Dies that, during the bombardment of Vienna in May 1809,
Haydn seated himself at his instrument every forenoon to give forth the
sound of the favourite song. Indeed, on May 26, only five days before
his death, he played it over three times in succession, and "with a
degree of expression that astonished himself." As one writer puts it,
the air "seemed to have acquired a certain sacredness in his eyes in an
age when kings were beheaded and their crowns tossed to the rabble."

Haydn's first sketch of the melody was found among his papers after his
death. We reproduce it here, with an improvement shown in small notes.
There are, it will be observed, some slight differences between the
draft and the published version of the air:

[figure: a musical score excerpt from the draft]

[figure: a musical score excerpt from the published version]

The collecting of what Tennyson called "the chips of the workshop"
is not as a rule an edifying business, but the evolution of a great
national air must always be interesting.

Plagiarism or Coincidence?

It might perhaps be added that Dr Kuhac, the highest authority on
Croatian folk-song, asserted in an article contributed to the Croatian
Review (1893) that the Austrian National Hymn was based on a Croatian
popular air. In reviewing Kuhac's collection of Croatian melodies, a
work in four volumes, containing 1600 examples, Dr Reimann signifies his
agreement with Kuhac, and adds that Haydn employed Croatian themes not
only in "God preserve the Emperor," but in many passages of his
other works. These statements must not be taken too seriously. Handel
purloined wholesale from brother composers and said nothing about it.
The artistic morality of Haydn's age was different, and, knowing his
character as we do, we may be perfectly sure that if he had of set
purpose introduced into any of his compositions music which was not his
own he would, in some way or other, have acknowledged the debt. This
hunting for plagiarisms which are not plagiarisms at all but mere
coincidences—coincidences which are and must be inevitable—is fast
becoming a nuisance, and it is the duty of every serious writer to
discredit the practice. The composer of "The Creation" had no need to
borrow his melodies from any source.

Haydn rounded his life with "The Creation" and "The Seasons." They
were the summit of his achievement, as little to be expected from
him, considering his years, as "Falstaff" was to be expected from the
octogenarian Verdi. Some geniuses flower late. It was only now, by his
London symphonies and his "Creation," that Haydn's genius blossomed so
luxuriantly as to place him with almost amazing suddenness among the
very first of composers. There is hardly anything more certain than
this, that if he had not come to London he would not have stood where he
stands to-day. The best of his symphonies were written for London;
and it was London, in effect, that set him to work in what was for him
practically a new direction, leading to the production of an oratorio
which at once took its place by the side of Handel's master-pieces, and
rose to a popularity second only to that of "The Messiah" itself.

"The Creation" suggested

The connection thus established between the names of Handel and Haydn
is interesting, for there can be little question that Haydn was led to
think of writing a large choral work chiefly as the result of frequently
hearing Handel's oratorios during his visits to the metropolis. The
credit of suggesting "The Creation" to Haydn is indeed assigned to
Salomon, but it is more than probable that the matter had already been
occupying his thoughts. It has been explicitly stated [See note by C.H.
Purday in Leisure Hour for 1880, p. 528.] that, being greatly impressed
with the effect produced by "The Messiah," Haydn intimated to his friend
Barthelemon his desire to compose a work of the same kind. He asked
Barthelemon what subject he would advise for such a purpose, and
Barthelemon, pointing to a copy of the Bible, replied: "There! take
that, and begin at the beginning." This story is told on apparently good
authority. But it hardly fits in with the statements of biographers.
According to the biographers, Salomon handed the composer a libretto
originally selected for Handel from Genesis and Paradise Lost by Mr
Lidley or Liddell. That this was the libretto used by Haydn is certain,
and we may therefore accept it as a fact that Haydn's most notable
achievement in choral music was due in great measure to the man who
had brought him to London, and had drawn from him the finest of his
instrumental works.

"The Creation" Libretto

Before proceeding further we may deal finally with the libretto of "The
Creation." The "unintelligible jargon" which disfigures Haydn's immortal
work has often formed the subject of comment; and assuredly nothing that
can be said of it can well be too severe. "The Creation" libretto stands
to the present day as an example of all that is jejune and incongruous
in words for music. The theme has in itself so many elements of
inspiration that it is a matter for wonder how, for more than a century,
English-speaking audiences have listened to the arrant nonsense with
which Haydn's music is associated. As has been well observed, "the
suburban love-making of our first parents, and the lengthy references
to the habits of the worm and the leviathan are almost more than modern
flesh and blood can endure." Many years ago a leading musical critic
wrote that there ought to be enough value, monetarily speaking, in "The
Creation" to make it worth while preparing a fresh libretto; for,
said he, "the present one seems only fit for the nursery, to use in
connection with Noah's ark." At the Norwich Festival performance of
the oratorio in 1872, the words were, in fact, altered, but in all the
published editions of the work the text remains as it was. It is
usual to credit the composer's friend, Baron van Swieten, with the
"unintelligible jargon." The baron certainly had a considerable hand
in the adaptation of the text. But in reality it owes its very uncouth
verbiage largely to the circumstance that it was first translated from
English into German, and then re-translated back into English; the
words, with the exception of the first chorus, being adapted to the
music. Considering the ways of translators, the best libretto in the
world could not but have suffered under such transformations, and it is
doing a real injustice to the memory of Baron Swieten, the good friend
of more than one composer, to hold him up needlessly to ridicule. [In
one of George Thomson's letters to Mrs Hunter we read: "It it is not
the first time that your muse and Haydn's have met, as we see from the
beautiful canzonets. Would he had been directed by you about the words
to 'The Creation'! It is lamentable to see such divine music joined with
such miserable broken English. He (Haydn) wrote me lately that in three
years, by the performance of 'The Creation' and 'The Seasons' at Vienna,
40,000 florins had been raised for the poor families of musicians."]

The Stimulus of London

Haydn set to work on "The Creation" with all the ardour of a first love.
Naumann suggests that his high spirits were due to the "enthusiastic
plaudits of the English people," and that the birth of both "The
Creation" and "The Seasons" was "unquestionably owing to the new man
he felt within himself after his visit to England." There was now, in
short, burning within his breast, "a spirit of conscious strength which
he knew not he possessed, or knowing, was unaware of its true worth."
This is somewhat exaggerated. Handel wrote "The Messiah" in twenty-four
days; it took Haydn the best part of eighteen months to complete "The
Creation," from which we may infer that "the sad laws of time" had not
stopped their operation simply because he had been to London. No doubt,
as we have already more than hinted, he was roused and stimulated by the
new scenes and the unfamiliar modes of life which he saw and experienced
in England. His temporary release from the fetters of official life had
also an exhilarating influence. So much we learn indeed from himself.
Thus, writing from London to Frau von Genzinger, he says: "Oh, my dear,
good lady, how sweet is some degree of liberty! I had a kind prince, but
was obliged at times to be dependent on base souls. I often sighed for
freedom, and now I have it in some measure. I am quite sensible of this
benefit, though my mind is burdened with more work. The consciousness of
being no longer a bond-servant sweetens all my toils." If this liberty,
this contact with new people and new forms of existence, had come to
Haydn twenty years earlier, it might have altered the whole current of
his career. But it did not help him much in the actual composition of
"The Creation," which he found rather a tax, alike on his inspiration
and his physical powers. Writing to Breitkopf & Hartel on June 12, 1799,
he says: "The world daily pays me many compliments, even on the fire of
my last works; but no one could believe the strain and effort it costs
me to produce these, inasmuch as many a day my feeble memory and the
unstrung state of my nerves so completely crush me to the earth, that
I fall into the most melancholy condition, so much so that for days
afterwards I am incapable of finding one single idea, till at length
my heart is revived by Providence, when I seat myself at the piano and
begin once more to hammer away at it. Then all goes well again, God be
praised!"

Self-Criticism

In the same letter he remarks that, "as for myself, now an old man, I
hope the critics may not handle my 'Creation' with too great severity,
and be too hard on it. They may perhaps find the musical orthography
faulty in various passages, and perhaps other things also which I have
for so many years been accustomed to consider as minor points; but the
genuine connoisseur will see the real cause as readily as I do, and will
willingly cast aside such stumbling blocks." It is impossible to miss
the significance of all this.

[At this point in the original book, a facsimile of a letter regarding
"The Creation" takes up the entire next page.]

Certainly it ought to be taken into account in any critical estimate
of "The Creation"; for when a man admits his own shortcomings it is
ungracious, to say the least, for an outsider to insist upon them. It is
obvious at any rate that Haydn undertook the composition of the oratorio
in no light-hearted spirit. "Never was I so pious," he says, "as when
composing 'The Creation.' I felt myself so penetrated with religious
feeling that before I sat down to the pianoforte I prayed to God with
earnestness that He would enable me to praise Him worthily." In the
lives of the great composers there is only one parallel to this frame of
mind—the religious fervour in which Handel composed "The Messiah."

First Performance of the Oratorio

The first performance of "The Creation" was of a purely private nature.
It took place at the Schwartzenburg Palace, Vienna, on the 29th of April
1798, the performers being a body of dilettanti, with Haydn presiding
over the orchestra. Van Swieten had been exerting himself to raise
a guarantee fund for the composer, and the entire proceeds of the
performance, amounting to 350 pounds, were paid over to him. Haydn was
unable to describe his sensations during the progress of the work. "One
moment," he says, "I was as cold as ice, the next I seemed on fire; more
than once I thought I should have a fit." A year later, on the 19th
of March 1799, to give the exact date, the oratorio was first heard
publicly at the National Theatre in Vienna, when it produced the
greatest effect. The play-bill announcing the performance (see next
page) had a very ornamental border, and was, of course, in German.

[At this point in the original book, a facsimile of the first play-bill
for "The Creation" takes up the entire next page.]

Next year the score was published by Breitkopf & Hartel, and no fewer
than 510 copies, nearly half the number subscribed for, came to England.
The title-page was printed both in German and English, the latter
reading as follows: "The Creation: an Oratorio composed by Joseph Haydn,
Doctor of Musik, and member of the Royal Society of Musik, in Sweden,
in actuel (sic) service of His Highness the Prince of Esterhazy, Vienna,
1800." Clementi had just set up a musical establishment in London, and
on August 22, 1800, we find Haydn writing to his publishers to
complain that he was in some danger of losing 2000 gulden by Clementi's
non-receipt of a consignment of copies.

London Performances

Salomon, strangely enough, had threatened Haydn with penalties for
pirating his text, but he thought better of the matter, and now wrote
to the composer for a copy of the score, so that he might produce the
oratorio in London. He was, however, forestalled by Ashley, who was at
that time giving performances of oratorio at Covent Garden Theatre, and
who brought forward the new work on the 28th of March (1800). An amusing
anecdote is told in this connection. The score arrived by a King's
messenger from Vienna on Saturday, March 22, at nine o'clock in the
evening. It was handed to Thomas Goodwin, the copyist of the theatre,
who immediately had the parts copied out for 120 performers. The
performance was on the Friday evening following, and when Mr Harris, the
proprietor of the theatre, complimented all parties concerned on their
expedition, Goodwin, with ready wit, replied: "Sir, we have humbly
emulated a great example; it is not the first time that the Creation has
been completed in six days." Salomon followed on the 21st of April
with a performance at the King's Theatre, Mara and Dussek taking the
principal parts. Mara remarked that it was the first time she had
accompanied an orchestra!

French Enthusiasm

Strange to say—for oratorio has never been much at home in France—"The
Creation" was received with immense enthusiasm in Paris when it was
first performed there in the summer of this same year. Indeed, the
applause was so great that the artists, in a fit of transport, and to
show their personal regard for the composer, resolved to present him
with a large gold medal. The medal was designed by the famous engraver,
Gateaux. It was adorned on one side with a likeness of Haydn, and on
the other side with an ancient lyre, over which a flame flickered in the
midst of a circle of stars. The inscription ran: "Homage a Haydn par les
Musiciens qui ont execute l'oratorio de la Creation du Monde au Theatre
des Arts l'au ix de la Republique Francais ou MDCCC." The medal was
accompanied by a eulogistic address, to which the recipient duly replied
in a rather flowery epistle. "I have often," he wrote, "doubted whether
my name would survive me, but your goodness inspires me with confidence,
and the token of esteem with which you have honoured me perhaps
justifies my hope that I shall not wholly die. Yes, gentlemen, you have
crowned my gray hairs, and strewn flowers on the brink of my grave."
Seven years after this Haydn received another medal from Paris—from
the Societe Academique des Enfants d'Apollon, who had elected him an
honorary member.

A second performance of "The Creation" took place in the French capital
on December 24, 1800, when Napoleon I. escaped the infernal machine in
the Rue Nicaise. It was, however, in England, the home of oratorio, that
the work naturally took firmest root. It was performed at the Worcester
Festival of 1800, at the Hereford Festival of the following year, and
at Gloucester in 1802. Within a few years it had taken its place by the
side of Handel's best works of the kind, and its popularity remained
untouched until Mendelssohn's "Elijah" was heard at Birmingham in 1847.
Even now, although it has lost something of its old-time vogue, it is
still to be found in the repertory of our leading choral societies. It
is said that when a friend urged Haydn to hurry the completion of the
oratorio, he replied: "I spend much time over it because I intend it
to last a long time." How delighted he would have been could he have
foreseen that it would still be sung and listened to with pleasure in
the early years of the twentieth century.

"The Creation" criticized

No one thinks of dealing critically with the music of "The Messiah"; and
it seems almost as thankless a task to take the music of "The Creation"
to pieces. Schiller called it a "meaningless hotch-potch"; and even
Beethoven, though he was not quite innocent of the same thing himself,
had his sardonic laugh over its imitations of beasts and birds.
Critics of the oratorio seldom fail to point out these "natural history
effects"—to remark on "the sinuous motion of the worm," "the graceful
gamboling of the leviathan," the orchestral imitations of the bellowing
of the "heavy beasts," and such like. It is probably indefensible on
purely artistic grounds. But Handel did it in "Israel in Egypt" and
elsewhere. And is there not a crowing cock in Bach's "St Matthew
Passion"? Haydn only followed the example of his predecessors.

Of course, the dispassionate critic cannot help observing that there is
in "The Creation" a good deal of music which is finicking and something
which is trumpery. But there is also much that is first-rate. The
instrumental representation of chaos, for example, is excellent, and
nothing in all the range of oratorio produces a finer effect than the
soft voices at the words, "And the Spirit of God moved upon the face
of the waters." Even the fortissimo C major chord on the word "light,"
coming abruptly after the piano and mezzoforte minor chords, is as
dazzling to-day as it was when first sung. It has been said that the
work is singularly deficient in sustained choruses. That is true, if we
are comparing it with the choruses of Handel's oratorios. But Haydn's
style is entirely different from that of Handel. His choruses are
designed on a much less imposing scale. They are more reflective or
descriptive, much less dramatic. It was not in his way "to strike like a
thunderbolt," as Mozart said of Handel. The descriptive effects which
he desired to introduce into his orchestration made it necessary that he
should throw the vocal element into a simpler mould. Allowance must
be made for these differences. Haydn could never have written "The
Messiah," but, on the other hand, Handel could never have written "The
Creation."

The chief beauty of Haydn's work lies in its airs for the solo voices.
While never giving consummate expression to real and deep emotion, much
less sustained thought, they are never wanting in sincerity, and the
melody and the style are as pure and good as those of the best Italian
writing for the stage. With all our advance it is impossible to resist
the freshness of "With verdure clad," and the tender charm of such
settings as that of "Softly purling, glides on, thro' silent vales, the
limpid brook." On the whole, however, it is difficult to sum up a work
like "The Creation," unless, as has been cynically remarked, one is
prepared to call it great and never go to hear it. It is not sublime,
but neither is it dull. In another fifty years, perhaps, the critic will
be able to say that its main interest is largely historic and literary.
[See J. F. Runciman's Old Scores and New Readings, where an admirably
just and concise appreciation of Haydn and "The Creation" may be read.]

A New Work

After such an unexpected success as that of "The Creation," it was only
in the nature of things that Haydn's friends should persuade him to
undertake the composition of a second work of the kind. Van Swieten was
insistent, and the outcome of his importunity was "The Seasons." This
work is generally classed as an oratorio, but it ought more properly
to be called a cantata, being essentially secular as regards its text,
though the form and style are practically the same as those of "The
Creation." The libretto was again due to Swieten, who, of course,
adapted the text from James Thomson's well-known poem.

"The Seasons"

It would certainly have been a pity to lose such a fresh, melodious
little work as "The Seasons"; but it is only too apparent that while
there was no appreciable failure of Haydn's creative force, his physical
strength was not equal to the strain involved by a composition of
such length. In 1806, when Dies found him rather weaker than usual, he
dolorously remarked: "You see it is all over with me. Eight years ago it
was different, but 'The Seasons' brought on this weakness. I ought
never to have undertaken that work. It gave me the finishing stroke."
He appears to have started on the work with great reluctance and with
considerable distrust of his own powers, but once fairly committed to
the undertaking he entered into it with something of his old animation,
disputing so manfully with his librettist over certain points in the
text that a serious rupture between the two was at one time imminent.
The subject was probably not very congenial to Haydn, who, as the years
advanced, was more and more inclined towards devotional themes. That
at least seems to be the inference to be drawn from the remark which he
made to the Emperor Francis on being asked which of his two oratorios he
himself preferred. "'The Creation,'" answered Haydn. "In 'The Creation'
angels speak and their talk is of God; in 'The Seasons' no one higher
speaks than Farmer Simon."

"The Seasons" criticized

But whether he liked the theme or not, in the end he produced a work as
fresh and genial and melodious as if it had been the work of his prime.
If anyone sees in it an evidence of weakness, he is seeing only what he
had expected to see. As Mr Rockstro remarks, not a trace of the "failing
power" of which the grand old man complained is to be found in any part
of it. It is a model of descriptive, contemplative work, and must please
by its thoughtful beauty and illustrative power. True to Nature in
its minutest details, it yet never insults her by trivial attempts at
outward imitation where artistic suggestion of the hidden truth was,
possible. The "delicious softness" of the opening chorus, and the
perfection of rustic happiness portrayed in the song which describes the
joy of the "impatient husbandman" are alone sufficient to prove that,
whatever he may have thought about it himself, Haydn's genius was not
appreciably waning.

The first performance of "The Seasons" took place at the Schwartzenburg
Palace on the 24th of April 1801. It was repeated twice within a week;
and on the 29th of May the composer conducted a grand public performance
at the Redoutensaal. The work proved almost as successful as "The
Creation." Haydn was enraptured with it, but he was never really himself
again. As he said, it gave him the finishing stroke.

Little is left to be told of the years which followed the production of
"The Seasons." Haydn never really recovered from the strain which that
last great effort of his genius had entailed. From his letters and the
reminiscences of his friends we can read only too plainly the story of
his growing infirmity. Even in 1799 he spoke of the diminution of his
mental powers, and exclaimed: "Oh, God! how much yet remains to be done
in this splendid art, even by a man like myself!" In 1802 he wrote of
himself as "a gradually decaying veteran," enjoying only the feeble
health which is "the inseparable companion of a gray-haired man
of seventy." In December 1803 he made his last public exertion by
conducting the "Seven Words" for the hospital fund at the Redoutensaal,
and shortly afterwards wrote sadly of his "very great weakness." In 1804
he was asked to direct a performance of "The Creation," but declined
on the score of failing strength. Gradually he withdrew himself almost
entirely from the outside world, his general languor broken only by the
visits of friends and by moods of passing cheerfulness. Cherubini,
the Abbe Vogler, Pleyel, the Weber family, Hummel, Reichardt, and many
others came to see him. Visits from members of the Esterhazy family gave
him much pleasure. Mozart's widow also brought her son Wolfgang, to beg
his blessing on the occasion of his first public concert in April 1805,
for which he had composed a cantata in honour of Haydn's seventy-third
birthday. But the homage of friends and admirers could not strengthen
the weak hands or confirm the feeble knees. In 1806 Dies notes that his
once-gleaming eye has become dull and heavy and his complexion sallow,
while he suffers from "headache, deafness, forgetfulness and other
pains." His old gaiety has completely gone, and even his friends have
become a bore to him. "My remaining days," he said to Dies, "must all be
spent in this lonely fashion.... I have many visitors, but it confuses
me so much to talk to them that at last I scarcely know what I am saying
and only long to be left in peace." The condition of a man of naturally
genial and optimistic temperament can easily be imagined from all
this—perhaps even more from the fact of his having a card printed to
hand to inquirers who called, bearing the words:

Hin ist alle meine Kraft; Alt and schwach bin ich.

[Fled for ever is my strength; Old and weak am I.]

Last Works

But while Haydn was thus suffering from the natural disabilities of his
years, he was not wholly divorced from his art. It is true that nothing
of any real importance came from his pen after "The Seasons," but a good
deal of work of various kinds was done, some of which it is impossible
for the biographer to ignore. One rather novel undertaking carries us
back to the end of 1799, about which time he was first asked by George
Thomson, the friend of Burns, to write accompaniments for certain
Scottish songs to be published in Thomson's well-known national
collections. The correspondence which followed is interesting in many
ways, and as it is not noticed in any other biography of Haydn, we
propose to deal with it here. [The letters passed through the present
writer's hands some five years ago, when he was preparing his Life of
George Thomson(1898). They are now in the British Museum with the other
Thomson correspondence.]

A Scottish Admirer

George Thomson engaged at one time or other the services of Beethoven,
Pleyel, Weber, Hummel, Bishop and Kozeluch. But Haydn was his first
love. A genius of the kind, he writes in 1811 "never before existed and
probably never will be surpassed." He is "the inimitable Haydn," the
"delectable," the "father of us all," and so on. On the other hand,
Haydn was proud of what he did for Thomson. "I boast of this work," he
said, "and by it I flatter myself my name will live in Scotland many
years after my death." Nay, if we may trust an authority cited by
Thomson, so highly did he think of "the symphonies and accompaniments
which he composed for my melodies as to have the original score of each
framed and hung all over the walls of his bedroom." Little wonder
that Thomson "loved the dear old man" and regretted that his worldly
circumstances did not allow him to erect a statue to the composer at his
own expense!

We have called this writing of symphonies and accompaniments for George
Thomson a novel undertaking. It was, however, only novel in the sense of
being rather out of Haydn's special "line." He had already been employed
on work of the kind for the collection of William Napier, to which
he contributed the accompaniments of 150 songs. Later on, too (in
1802-1803), he harmonized and wrote accompaniments for sixty-five airs,
for which he received 500 florins from Whyte of Edinburgh. The extent of
his labours for George Thomson we shall now proceed to show.

Song Accompaniments

Thomson addressed his first letter to Haydn in October 1799. There is no
copy of it, but there is a copy of a letter to Mr Straton, a friend of
Thomson's, who was at this time Secretary to the Legation at Vienna.
Straton was to deliver the letter to Haydn, and negotiate with him on
Thomson's behalf. He was authorized to "say whatever you conceive is
likely to produce compliance," and if necessary to "offer a few more
ducats for each air." The only stipulation was that Haydn "must not
speak of what he gets." Thomson does not expect that he will do the
accompaniments better than Kozeluch—"that is scarcely possible"(!); but
in the symphonies he will be "great and original." Thomson, as we now
learn from Straton, had offered 2 ducats for each air (say 20s.);
Haydn "seemed desirous of having rather more than 2 ducats, but did not
precisely insist upon the point." Apparently he did not insist, for the
next intimation of the correspondence is to the effect that thirty-two
airs which he had just finished had been forwarded to Thomson on June
19, 1800. They would have been done sooner, says Straton, but "poor
Haydn laboured under so severe an illness during the course of this
spring that we were not altogether devoid of alarm in regard to his
recovery." Thomson, thus encouraged, sent sixteen more airs; and Straton
writes (April 30, 1801) that Haydn at first refused to touch them
because the price paid was too low. But in the course of conversation
Straton learnt that Haydn was writing to Thomson to ask him to procure
a dozen India handkerchiefs, and it struck him that "your making him a
present of them might mollify the veteran into compliance respecting
the sixteen airs." Straton therefore took upon himself to promise in
Thomson's name that the handkerchiefs would be forthcoming, and "this
had the desired effect to such a degree that Haydn immediately put the
sixteen airs in his pocket, and is to compose the accompaniments as soon
as possible on the same terms as the former."

Mrs Jordan

The handkerchiefs duly arrived—"nice and large"—and Haydn made his
acknowledgments in appropriate terms. At the same time (in January 1802)
he wrote: "I send you with this the favourite air 'The Blue Bells of
Scotland,' and I should like that this little air should be engraved
all alone and dedicated in my name as a little complimentary gift to
the renowned Mrs Jordan, whom, without having the honour of knowing, I
esteem extremely for her great virtue and reputation." Mrs Jordan
has been credited with the air of "The Blue Bells of Scotland." She
certainly popularized the song, whether it was her own or not. In the
note just quoted Haydn must have used the term "virtue" in the Italian
sense.

A Hitch

After this a little hitch occurred in the Thomson correspondence.
Haydn, being asked by Whyte, the publisher of a rival collection, to
do something for his work, at once agreed. Thomson, not unnaturally,
perhaps, felt hurt. He made his complaint through Mr Straton's successor
at the Embassy, Mr Charles Stuart; and in August 1803 Stuart writes to
say that he had broached the matter to Haydn "in as delicate terms as
possible for fear he might take offence." Haydn frankly admitted that he
had done the accompaniments for Whyte, but said the airs were different
from those he had done for Thomson. After "a long conversation, he
informed me," says Mr Stuart, "that being now seventy-four years of
age and extremely infirm, he found himself wholly incapable of further
application to study; that he must therefore beg leave to decline all
offers, whether on your part or from any other person whatsoever. He
even declared that notwithstanding the repeated requests of Prince
Esterhazy, he felt himself utterly incapable of finishing several pieces
of music he had undertaken, and being possessed of a competency he
desired nothing so much as to pass the short time he has yet to live in
repose and quiet." From this letter we learn that Thomson had unluckily
sent a present of a handkerchief for Frau Haydn, who had now been dead
for three years!

A "Previous" Letter of Condolence

In spite of the little misunderstanding just referred to Haydn was
brought round once more, and on the 20th of December 1803 Thomson sends
twenty-four airs, "which will most certainly be the last." Haydn's work
delights him so much that he "really cannot bear the idea of seeking an
inferior composer to finish a work already so nearly finished by you."
He would pay 4 ducats for each air rather than have the mortification
of a refusal. After this there is little of interest to note in the
correspondence, unless it be a very "previous" letter of condolence
which Thomson sent to Vienna. A false rumour had reached him that Haydn
was dead. The following extract from a note which Haydn dictated to
be sent to the friend who received Thomson's letter will explain the
matter:

Kindly say to Mr Thomson that Haydn is very sensible of the distress
that the news of his alleged death has caused him, and that this sign of
affection has added, if that were possible, to the esteem and friendship
he will always entertain for Mr Thomson. You will notice that he has put
his name and the date on the sheet of music to give better proof that he
is still on this nether world. He begs you at the same time to be kind
enough to have Mr Thomson's letter of condolence copied and to send him
the copy.

Haydn's experience in this way was perhaps unique. Burney says he was
reported dead in 1778; and the false rumour which reached Thomson in
1805 led Cherubini to compose a sacred cantata for three voices and
orchestra, which was duly performed in Paris when his death actually
occurred.

Haydn furnished in all some 250 airs with symphonies and accompaniments
for Thomson. In the packet of letters from the composer, docketed by
Thomson himself, the latter has placed a slip of paper indicating the
various payments he had made. According to this statement Haydn had
291 pounds, 18s. for his work from first to last—not by any means an
insignificant sum to make out of a side branch of his art.

Eventide

This interesting correspondence takes us up to the year 1806, by which
time Haydn's work was entirely over. His eventide, alas! was darkened by
the clouds of war. The wave of the French Revolution had cast its bloody
spray upon the surrounding nations, and 1805 saw the composer's beloved
Vienna occupied by the French. Haydn was no politician, but love of
country lay deep down in his heart, and he watched the course of events,
from his little cottage, with the saddest forebodings.

The Last Public Appearance

Once only was he drawn from his seclusion. This was on the 27th of March
1808, when he appeared in public for the last time at a performance of
"The Creation" at the University. The scene on this remarkable occasion
has been described by many pens. Naumann, writing of it, says that "such
an apotheosis of the master was witnessed as has but few parallels," and
this is no exaggeration. The performance, which was under the direction
of Salieri, had been arranged in honour of his approaching seventy-sixth
birthday. All the great artists of Vienna were present, among them
Beethoven and Hummel. Prince Esterhazy had sent his carriage to bring
the veteran to the hall, and, as he was being conveyed in an arm-chair
to a place among the princes and nobles, the whole audience rose to
their feet in testimony of their regard. It was a cold night, and ladies
sitting near swathed him in their costly wraps and lace shawls. The
concert began, and the audience was hushed to silence. When that
magnificent passage was reached, "And there was light," they burst into
loud applause, and Haydn, overcome with excitement, exclaimed, "Not I,
but a Power from above created that." The performance went on, but it
proved too much for the old man, and friends arranged to take him home
at the end of the first part. As he was being carried out, some of the
highest of the land crowded round to take what was felt to be a last
farewell; and Beethoven, forgetting incidents of early days, bent down
and fervently kissed his hand and forehead. Having reached the door,
Haydn asked his bearers to pause and turn him towards the orchestra.
Then, lifting his hand, as if in the act of blessing, he was borne out
into the night.

Next year Vienna was bombarded by the French, and a cannon-ball fell not
far from Haydn's house. He was naturally much alarmed; but there is no
ground for the statement, sometimes made, that his death was hastened
by the fright. On the contrary, he called out to his servants, who were
assisting him to dress: "Children, don't be frightened; no harm can
happen to you while Haydn is here."

The End

But his days were numbered. "This miserable war has cast me down to the
very ground," he would say, with tears in his eyes. And yet it was a
French officer who last visited him on his death-bed, the city being
then actually occupied by the enemy. The officer's name is not given,
but he sang "In native worth" with such expression that Haydn was quite
overcome, and embraced him warmly at parting. On May 26 he seems to have
felt that his end was fast approaching. He gathered his household around
him, and, being carried to the piano, at his own special request,
played the Emperor's Hymn three times over, with an emotion that fairly
overpowered himself and all who heard him. Five days later, on the 31st
of May 1809, he breathed his last.

Funeral services were held in all the churches, and on June 15 Mozart's
Requiem was given in his honour at the Scots Church, when several
generals and administrators of the French army were present. Many poems
were also written in his praise.

Haydn was buried as a private individual in the Hundsthurm Churchyard,
which was just outside the lines, and close to the suburb of Gumpendorf,
where he had lived. The grave remained entirely undistinguished
till 1814—another instance of Vienna's neglect—when Haydn's pupil,
Chevalier Neukomm, erected a stone bearing the following inscription,
which contains a five-part canon for solution:

In 1820 the remains were exhumed by order of Prince Esterhazy, and
re-interred with fresh funeral honours in the Pilgrimage Church of
Maria-Einsiedel, near Eisenstadt, on November 7. A simple stone, with
a Latin inscription, is inserted in the wall over the vault. When the
coffin was opened, the startling discovery was made that the skull had
been stolen. The desecration took place two days after the funeral.
It appears that one Johann Peter, intendant of the royal and imperial
prisons of Vienna, conceived the grim idea of forming a collection of
skulls, made, as he avowed in his will, to corroborate the theory of
Dr Gall, the founder of phrenology. This functionary bribed the sexton,
and—in concert with Prince Esterhazy's secretary Rosenbaum, and with
two Government officials named Jungermann and Ullmann—he opened Haydn's
grave and removed the skull. Peter afterwards gave the most minute
details of the sacrilege. He declared that he examined the head and
found the bump of music fully developed, and traces in the nose of the
polypus from which Haydn suffered. The skull was placed in a lined box,
and when Peter got into difficulties and his collection was dispersed,
the relic passed into the possession of Rosenbaum. That worthy's
conscience seems to have troubled him in the matter, for he conceived
the idea of erecting a monument to the skull in his back garden! When
the desecration was discovered in 1820 there was an outcry, followed by
police search. Prince Esterhazy would stand no nonsense. The skull must
be returned, no questions would be asked, and Peter was offered a reward
if he found it. The notion then occurred to Rosenbaum of palming off
another skull for Haydn's. This he actually succeeded in doing, the head
of some unfortunate individual being handed to the police. Peter claimed
the reward, which was very justly refused him. When Rosenbaum was dying
he confessed to the deception, and gave the skull back to Peter. Peter
formed the resolution of bequeathing it, by will, to the Conservatorium
at Vienna; but he altered his mind before he died, and by codicil left
the skull to Dr Haller, from whose keeping it ultimately found its
way to the anatomical museum at Vienna. We believe it is still in the
museum. Its proper place is, of course, in Haydn's grave, and a stigma
will rest on Vienna until it is placed there.

[The great masters have been peculiarly unfortunate in the matter of
their "remains." When Beethoven's grave was opened in 1863, Professor
Wagner was actually allowed to cut off the ears and aural cavities of
the corpse in order to investigate the cause of the dead man's deafness.
The alleged skeleton of Sebastian Bach was taken to an anatomical museum
a few years ago, "cleaned up," and clothed with a semblance of flesh to
show how Bach looked in life! Donizetti's skull was stolen before the
funeral, and was afterwards sold to a pork butcher, who used it as a
money-bowl. Gluck was re-buried in 1890 beside Mozart, Beethoven
and Schubert, after having lain in the little suburban churchyard of
Matzleinsdorf since 1787.]

A copy of Haydn's will has been printed as one of the appendices to
the present volume, with notes and all necessary information about the
interesting document. Two years before his death he had arranged that
his books, music, manuscripts and medals should become the property of
the Esterhazy family. Among the relics were twenty-four canons which
had hung, framed and glazed, in his bedroom. "I am not rich enough," he
said, "to buy good pictures, so I have provided myself with hangings of
a kind that few possess." These little compositions were the subject
of an oft-quoted anecdote. His wife, in one of her peevish moods, was
complaining that if he should die suddenly, there was not sufficient
money in the house to bury him. "In case such a calamity should occur,"
he replied, "take these canons to the music-publisher. I will answer for
it, that they will bring enough to pay for a decent funeral."

Something of Haydn's person and character will have already been
gathered from the foregoing pages. He considered himself an ugly man,
and, in Addison's words, thought that the best expedient was "to be
pleasant upon himself." His face was deeply pitted with small-pox, and
the nose, large and aquiline, was disfigured by the polypus which he
had inherited from his mother. In complexion he was so dark as to
have earned in some quarters the familiar nickname of "The Moor." His
underlip was thick and hanging, his jaw massive. "The mouth and chin
are Philistine," wrote Lavater under his silhouette, noting, at the same
time, "something out of the common in the eyes and the nose." The eyes
were dark gray. They are described as "beaming with benevolence," and
he used to say himself: "Anyone can see by the look of me that I am a
good-natured sort of fellow."

In stature he was rather under the middle height, with legs
disproportionately short, a defect rendered more noticeable by the style
of his dress, which he refused to change with the changes of fashion.
Dies writes: "His features were regular, his expression animated, yet,
at the same time, temperate, gentle and attractive. His face wore
a stern look when in repose, but in conversation it was smiling and
cheerful. I never heard him laugh out loud. His build was substantial,
but deficient in muscle." Another of his acquaintances says that
"notwithstanding a cast of physiognomy rather morose, and a short way
of expressing himself, which seemed to indicate an ill-tempered man, the
character of Haydn was gay, open and humorous." From these testimonies
we get the impression of a rather unusual combination of the attractive
and the repulsive, the intellectual and the vulgar. What Lavater
described as the "lofty and good" brow was partly concealed by a wig,
with side curls, and a pig-tail, which he wore to the last. His dress as
a private individual has not been described in detail, but the Esterhazy
uniform, though frequently changing in colour and style, showed him in
knee-breeches, white stockings, lace ruffles and white neckcloth. This
uniform he never wore except when on actual duty.

Portraits

After his death there were many portraits in chalks, engraved, and
modeled in wax. Notwithstanding his admission of the lack of personal
graces, he had a sort of feminine objection to an artist making him look
old. We read that, in 1800, he was "seriously angry" with a painter who
had represented him as he then appeared. "If I was Haydn at forty," said
he, "why should you transmit to posterity a Haydn of seventy-eight?"
Several writers mention a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and even give
details of the sittings, but he never sat to Reynolds, whose eyesight
had begun to fail before Haydn's arrival in England. During his first
visit to London Hoppner painted his portrait at the special request of
the Prince of Wales. This portrait was engraved by Facius in 1807, and
is now at Hampton Court. Engravings were also published in London by
Schiavonetti and Bartolozzi from portraits by Guttenbrunn and Ott, and
by Hardy from his own oil-painting. A silhouette, which hung for long
at the head of his bed, was engraved for the first time for Grove's
Dictionary of Music. This was said by Elssler, his old servant, to have
been a striking likeness. Of the many busts, the best is that by his
friend Grassi, the sculptor.

[figure: Haydn's silhouette by Lavater]

Social Habits

Very little has been recorded of his social habits. Anything like
excess in wine is not once mentioned; but it is easy to see from his
correspondence that he enjoyed a good dinner, and was not insensible to
creature comforts. Writing to Artaria from Esterhaz in 1788, he says:
"By-the-bye, I am very much obliged to you for the capital cheese you
sent me, and also the sausages, for which I am your debtor, but shall
not fail when an opportunity offers to return the obligation." In a
subsequent letter to Frau von Genzinger he comically laments the change
from Vienna to Esterhaz: "I lost twenty pounds in weight in three days,
for the effect of my fare at Vienna disappeared on the journey. 'Alas!
alas!' thought I, when driven to eat at the restaurateurs, 'instead of
capital beef, a slice of a cow fifty years old; instead of a ragout with
little balls of force-meat, an old sheep with yellow carrots; instead
of a Bohemian pheasant, a tough grill; instead of pastry, dry apple
fritters and hazelnuts, etc.! Alas! alas! would that I now had many a
morsel I despised in Vienna! Here in Esterhaz no one asks me, Would you
like some chocolate, with milk or without? Will you take some coffee,
with or without cream? What can I offer you, my good Haydn? Will you
have vanille ice or pineapple?' If I had only a piece of good Parmesan
cheese, particularly in Lent, to enable me to swallow more easily the
black dumplings and puffs! I gave our porter this very day a commission
to send me a couple of pounds." Even amid the social pleasures and
excitements of London, where he was invited out six times a week and
had "four excellent dishes" at every dinner, he longs to be back in his
native land so that he may have "some good German soup."

Partial to Pretty Women

We read that in Austria he "never associated with any but the musicians,
his colleagues," a statement which cannot be strictly true. In London
he was, as we have seen, something of a "lion," but it is doubtful if he
enjoyed the conventional diversions of the beau monde. Yet he liked the
company of ladies, especially when they were personally attractive.
That he was never at a loss for a compliment may perhaps be taken as
explaining his frequent conquests, for, as he frankly said himself, the
pretty women "were at any rate not tempted by my beauty." Of children he
was passionately fond, a fact which lends additional melancholy to his
own unhappy and childless home life.

His Letters

He was not highly educated, and he does not seem to have taken much
interest in anything outside his own profession. This much may be
gathered from his correspondence, upon which it is not necessary to
comment at length. Mr Russell Lowell remarks that a letter which is not
mainly about the writer loses its prime flavour. Haydn's letters are
seldom "mainly about the writer." They help us very little in seeking to
get at what Newman called "the inside of things," though some, notably
those given at the end of this volume, embody valuable suggestions.
He habitually spoke in the broad dialect of his native place. He knew
Italian well and French a little, and he had enough Latin to enable him
to set the Church services. Of English he was almost entirely ignorant
until he came to London in 1791, when we hear of him walking the country
lanes with an English grammar in hand. There is an amusing story of a
dinner at Madame Mara's, at which he was present during his first visit.
Crossdill, the violoncellist, proposed to celebrate him with "three
times three." The suggestion was at once adopted, all the guests, with
the exception of Haydn himself, standing up and cheering lustily. Haydn
heard his name repeated, but not understanding what was going on, stared
at the company in blank bewilderment. When the matter was explained to
him he appeared quite overcome with diffidence, putting his hands
before his face and not recovering his equanimity for some minutes. [See
Records of My Life, by John Taylor: London, 1832.]

His Humour

Of hobbies or recreations he appears to have had none, though, to
relieve the dull monotony of life at Eisenstadt or Esterhaz, he
occasionally indulged in hunting and fishing and mountain rambles. A
leading trait in his character was his humour and love of fun. As he
remarked to Dies: "A mischievous fit comes over me sometimes that is
perfectly beyond control." The incident of the removal of the fellow
chorister's pig-tail will at once recur to the memory. The "Surprise"
Symphony is another illustration, to say nothing of the "Toy" Symphony
and "Jacob's Dream."

His Generosity

Of his generosity and his kindness to fellow artists there are many
proofs. In 1800 he speaks of himself as having "willingly endeavoured
all my life to assist everyone," and the words were no empty boast. No
man was, in fact, more ready to perform a good deed. He had many needy
relations always looking to him for aid, and their claims were seldom
refused. A brother artist in distress was sure of help, and talented
young men found in him a valuable friend, equally ready to give his
advice or his gold, as the case might require. That he was sometimes
imposed upon goes without saying. He has been charged with avarice, but
the charge is wholly unfounded. He was simply careful in money matters,
and that, to a large extent, because of the demands that were constantly
being made upon him. In commercial concerns he was certainly sharp
and shrewd, and attempts to take advantage of him always roused his
indignation. "By heavens!" he writes to Artaria, "you have wronged me to
the extent of fifty ducats.... This step must cause the cessation of all
transactions between us." The same firm, having neglected to answer some
business proposition, were pulled up in this fashion: "I have been much
provoked by the delay, inasmuch as I could have got forty ducats
from another publisher for these five pieces, and you make too many
difficulties about a matter by which, in such short compositions, you
have at least a thirty fold profit. The sixth piece has long had its
companion, so pray make an end of the affair and send me either my music
or my money."

The Haydn of these fierce little notes is not the gentle recluse we are
apt to imagine him. They show, on the contrary, that he was not wanting
in spirit when occasion demanded. He was himself upright and honest in
all his dealings. And he never forgot a kindness, as more than one entry
in his will abundantly testifies. He was absolutely without malice, and
there are several instances of his repaying a slight with a generous
deed or a thoughtful action. His practical tribute to the memory of
Werner, who called him a fop and a "scribbler of songs," has been
cited. His forbearance with Pleyel, who had allowed himself to be pitted
against him by the London faction, should also be recalled; and it is
perhaps worth mentioning further that he put himself to some trouble to
get a passport for Pleyel during the long wars of the French Revolution.
He carried his kindliness and gentleness even into "the troubled region
of artistic life," and made friends where other men would have made
foes.

Unspoiled by Success

His modesty has often been insisted upon. Success did not spoil him. In
a letter of 1799 he asks that a certain statement in his favour should
not be mentioned, lest he "be accused of conceit and arrogance, from
which my Heavenly Father has preserved me all my life long." Here he
spoke the simple truth. At the same time, while entirely free from
presumption and vanity, he was perfectly alive to his own merits, and
liked to have them acknowledged. When visitors came to see him nothing
gave him greater pleasure than to open his cabinets and show the medals,
that had been struck in his honour, along with the other gifts he had
received from admirers. Like a true man of genius, as Pohl says, he
enjoyed distinction and fame, but carefully avoided ambition.

High Ideals

Of his calling and opportunities as an artist he had a very high idea.
Acknowledging a compliment paid to him in 1802 by the members of the
Musical Union in Bergen, he wrote of the happiness it gave him to think
of so many families susceptible of true feeling deriving pleasure and
enjoyment from his compositions.

"Often when contending with the obstacles of every sort opposed to my
work, often when my powers both of body and mind failed, and I felt it
a hard matter to persevere in the course I had entered on, a secret
feeling within me whispered, 'There are but few contented and happy men
here below; everywhere grief and care prevail, perhaps your labours may
one day be the source from which the weary and worn or the man burdened
with affairs may derive a few moments' rest and refreshment.' What a
powerful motive to press onwards! And this is why I now look back with
heartfelt, cheerful satisfaction on the work to which I have devoted
such a long succession of years with such persevering efforts and
exertions."

With this high ideal was combined a constant effort to perfect himself
in his art. To Kalkbrenner he once made the touching remark: "I have
only just learned in my old age how to use the wind instruments, and now
that I do understand them I must leave the world." To Griezinger, again,
he said that he had by no means exhausted his genius: that "ideas were
often floating in his mind, by which he could have carried the art far
beyond anything it had yet attained, had his physical powers been equal
to the task."

His Piety

Closely, indeed inseparably, connected with this exalted idea of his art
was his simple and sincere piety. He was a devout Christian, and looked
upon his genius as a gift from God, to be freely used in His service.
His faith was never assailed with doubts; he lived and died in the
communion of the Catholic Church, and was "never in danger of becoming
either a bigot or a free-thinker." When Carpani, anticipating latter-day
criticism, hinted to him that his Church compositions were impregnated
with a light gaiety, he replied: "I cannot help it; I give forth what
is in me. When I think of the Divine Being, my heart is, so full of joy
that the notes fly off as from a spindle, and as I have a cheerful heart
He will pardon me if I serve Him cheerfully."

His reverent practice during the composition of "The Creation" has been
mentioned. "Never was I so pious," he said. There are many proofs of the
same feeling in his correspondence and other writings. Thus he concludes
an autobiographical sketch with the words: "I offer up to Almighty God
all eulogiums, for to Him alone do I owe them. My sole wish is neither
to offend against my neighbour nor my gracious prince, but above all not
against our merciful God." Again, in one of his later letters, he says
"May God only vouchsafe to grant me the health that I have hitherto
enjoyed, and may I preserve it by good conduct, out of gratitude to
the Almighty." The note appended to the first draft of his will is also
significant. Nor in this connection should we forget the words with
which he inscribed the scores of his more important compositions. For
the conclusion he generally adopted Handel's "Soli Deo Gloria" or "Laus
Deo," with the occasional addition of "et B.V. Mae. et Oms. Sis. (Beatae
Virgini Mariae et Omnibus Sanctis)." Even his opera scores were so
inscribed, one indeed having the emphatic close: "Laus omnipotenti Deo
et Beatissimae Virgini Mariae." The superscription was uniformly "In
nomine Domini." It is recorded somewhere that when, in composing, he
felt his inspiration flagging, or was baulked by some difficulty, he
rose from the instrument and began to run over his rosary. In short, not
to labour the point, he had himself followed the advice which, as an old
man, he gave to the choirboys of Vienna: "Be good and industrious and
serve God continually."

His Industry

The world has seen many an instance of genius without industry, as of
industry without genius. In Haydn the two were happily wedded. He was
always an early riser, and long after his student days were over he
worked steadily from sixteen to eighteen hours a day. He lived strictly
by a self-imposed routine, and was so little addicted to what Scott
called "bed-gown and slipper tricks," that he never sat down to work or
received a visitor until he was fully dressed. He had none of Wagner's
luxurious tastes or Balzac's affectations in regard to a special attire
for work, but when engaged on his more important compositions he always
wore the ring given him by the King of Prussia. In Haydn's case there
are no incredible tales of dashing off scores in the twinkling of
an eye. That he produced so much must be attributed to his habit of
devoting all his leisure to composition. He was not a rapid worker if we
compare him with Handel and Mozart. He never put down anything till he
was "quite sure it was the right thing"—a habit of mind indicated by
his neat and uniform handwriting ["His notes had such little heads and
slender tails that he used, very properly, to call them his, flies'
legs."—Bombet, p. 97.]—and he assures us: "I never was a quick writer,
and always composed with care and deliberation. That alone," he added,
"is the way to compose works that will last, and a real connoisseur can
see at a glance whether a score has been written in undue haste or not."
He is quoted as saying that "genius is always prolific." However the
saying may be interpreted, there does not seem to have been about him
anything of what has been called the irregular dishabille of composers,
"the natural result of the habit of genius of watching for an
inspiration, and encouraging it to take possession of the whole being
when it comes."

Habits of Composition

His practice was to sketch out his ideas roughly in the morning, and
elaborate them in the afternoon, taking pains to preserve unity in
idea and form. "That is where so many young composers fail," he said
in reference to the latter point. "They string together a number of
fragments; they break off almost as soon as they have begun, and so at
the end the listener carries off no definite impression." The importance
of melody he specially emphasized. "It is the air which is the charm of
music," he remarked, "and it is that which is most difficult to produce.
The invention of a fine melody is the work of genius." In another place
he says: "In vocal composition, the art of producing beautiful melody
may now almost be considered as lost; and when a composer is so
fortunate as to throw forth a passage that is really melodious, he is
sure, if he be not sensible of its excellence, to overwhelm and destroy
it by the fullness and superfluity of his instrumental parts." [Compare
Mozart's words as addressed to Michael Kelly: "Melody is the essence of
music. I should liken one who invents melodies to a noble racehorse, and
a mere contrapuntist to a hired post-hack."]

He is stated to have always composed with the aid of the pianoforte or
harpsichord; and indeed we find him writing to Artaria in 1788 to say
that he has been obliged to buy a new instrument "that I might compose
your clavier sonatas particularly well." This habit of working out ideas
with the assistance of the piano has been condemned by most theorists
as being likely to lead to fragmentariness. With Haydn at any rate the
result was entirely satisfactory, for, as Sir Hubert Parry points out,
the neatness and compactness of his works is perfect. It is very likely,
as Sir Hubert says, that most modern composers have used the pianoforte
a good deal—not so much to help them to find out their ideas, as to
test the details and intensify their musical sensibility by the excitant
sounds, the actual sensual impression of which is, of course, an
essential element in all music. The composer can always hear such things
in his mind, but obviously the music in such an abstract form can never
have quite as much effect upon him as when the sounds really strike
upon his ear. [See Studies of Great Composers, by C. Hubert H. Parry, p.
109.]

No Pedant

Like all the really great composers, Haydn was no pedant in the matter
of theoretical formulae, though he admitted that the rigid rules of
harmony should rarely be violated, and "never without the compensation
of some inspired effect." When he was asked according to what rule he
had introduced a certain progression, he replied "The rules are all
my very obedient humble servants." With the quint-hunters and other
faddists who would place their shackles on the wrists of genius, he had
as little patience as Beethoven, who, when told that all the authorities
forbade the consecutive fifths in his C Minor Quartet, thundered out:
"Well, I allow them." Somebody once questioned him about an apparently
unwarranted passage in the introduction to Mozart's Quartet in C Major.
"If Mozart has written it, be sure he had good reasons for doing
so," was the conclusive reply. That fine old smoke-dried pedant,
Albrechtsberger, declared against consecutive fourths in strict
composition, and said so to Haydn. "What is the good of such rules?"
demanded Haydn. "Art is free and must not be fettered by mechanical
regulations. The cultivated ear must decide, and I believe myself as
capable as anyone of making laws in this respect. Such trifling is
absurd; I wish instead that someone would try to compose a really new
minuet." To Dies he remarked further: "Supposing an idea struck me as
good and thoroughly satisfactory both to the ear and the heart, I would
far rather pass over some slight grammatical error than sacrifice
what seemed to me beautiful to any mere pedantic trifling." These were
sensible views. Practice must always precede theory. When we find a
great composer infringing some rule of the old text-books, there is, to
say the least, a strong presumption, not that the composer is wrong, but
that the rule needs modifying. The great composer goes first and invents
new effects: it is the business of the theorist not to cavil at every
novelty, but to follow modestly behind and make his rules conform to the
practice of the master. [Compare Professor Prout's Treatise on Harmony.]

Thus much about Haydn the man. Let us now turn to Haydn the composer and
his position in the history of music.

CHAPTER X. HAYDN: THE COMPOSER

Haydn has been called "the father of instrumental music," and although
rigid critics may dispute his full right to that title, on broad grounds
he must be allowed to have sufficiently earned it. He was practically
the creator of more than one of our modern forms, and there was hardly a
department of instrumental music in which he did not make his influence
felt. This was emphatically the case with the sonata, the symphony
and the string quartet. The latter he brought to its first perfection.
Before his time this particular form of chamber music was long
neglected, and for a very simple reason. Composers looked upon it as
being too slight in texture for the display of their genius. That, as
has often been demonstrated, was because they had not mastered the art
of "writing a four-part harmony with occasional transitions into the
pure polyphonic style—a method of writing which is indispensable to
quartet composition—and also because they did not yet understand the
scope and value of each individual instrument."

The Quartet

It would be too much to say that even Haydn fully realized the
capacities of each of his four instruments. Indeed, his quartet writing
is often bald and uninteresting. But at least he did write in four-part
harmony, and it is certainly to him that we owe the installation of the
quartet as a distinct species of chamber music. "It is not often," says
Otto Jahn, the biographer of Mozart, "that a composer hits so exactly
upon the form suited to his conceptions; the quartet was Haydn's natural
mode of expressing his feelings." This is placing the Haydn quartet in
a very high position among the products of its creator. But its artistic
value and importance cannot well be over-estimated. Even Mozart, who set
a noble seal upon the form, admitted that it was from Haydn he had
first learned the true way to compose quartets; and there have been
enthusiasts who regarded the Haydn quartet with even more veneration
than the Haydn symphony. No fewer than seventy-seven quartets are
ascribed to him. Needless to say, they differ considerably as regards
their style and treatment, for the first was written so early as
1755, while the last belongs to his later years. But they are all
characterized by the same combination of manly earnestness, rich
invention and mirthful spirit. The form is concise and symmetrical, the
part-writing is clear and well-balanced, and a "sunny sweetness" is the
prevailing mood. As a discerning critic has remarked, there is nothing
in the shape of instrumental music much pleasanter and easier to listen
to than one of Haydn's quartets. The best of them hold their places in
the concert-rooms of to-day, and they seem likely to live as long as
there are people to appreciate clear and logical composition which
attempts nothing beyond "organized simplicity." [See W. J. Henderson's
How Music Developed, p. 191: London, 1899]. In this department, as
Goethe said, he may be superseded, but he can never be surpassed.

The Symphony

For the symphony Haydn did no less than for the quartet. The symphony,
in his young days, was not precisely the kind of work which now bears
the name. It was generally written for a small band, and consisted of
four parts for strings and four for wind instruments. It was meant to
serve no higher purpose, as a rule, than to be played in the houses of
nobles; and on that account it was neither elaborated as to length nor
complicated as to development. So long as it was agreeable and likely to
please the aristocratic ear, the end of the composer was thought to be
attained.

Haydn, as we know, began his symphonic work under Count Morzin. The
circumstances were not such as to encourage him to "rise to any pitch of
real greatness or depth of meaning"; and although he was able to build
on a somewhat grander scale when he went to Eisenstadt, it was still a
little comfortable coterie that he understood himself to be writing for
rather than for the musical world at large. Nevertheless, he aimed at
constant improvement, and although he had no definite object in view, he
"raised the standard of symphony—writing far beyond any point which had
been attained before."

"His predecessors," to quote Sir Hubert Parry, "had always written
rather carelessly and hastily for the band, and hardly ever tried to get
refined and original effects from the use of their instruments, but he
naturally applied his mind more earnestly to the matter in hand, and
found out new ways of contrasting and combining the tones of different
members of his orchestra, and getting a fuller and richer effect out of
the mass of them when they were all playing. In the actual style of the
music, too, he made great advances, and in his hands symphonies became
by degrees more vigorous, and, at the same time, more really musical."

But the narrow limits of the Esterhazy audience and the numbing routine
of the performances were against his rising to the top heights of his
genius.

The Salomon Set

It was only when he came to write for the English public that he showed
what he could really do with the matter of the symphony. In comparison
with the twelve symphonies which he wrote for Salomon, the other, and
especially the earlier works are of practically no account. They are
interesting, of course, as marking stages in the growth of the symphony
and in the development of the composer's genius. But regarded in
themselves, as absolute and individual entities, they are not for a
moment to be placed by the side of the later compositions. These, so far
as his instrumental music is concerned, are the crowning glory of his
life work. They are the ripe fruits of his long experience working
upon the example of Mozart, and mark to the full all those qualities of
natural geniality, humour, vigour and simple-heartedness, which are the
leading characteristics of his style.

[figure: a musical score excerpt]

The Sonata

Haydn's sonatas show the same advance in form as his symphonies and
quartets. The older specimens of the sonata, as seen in the works of
Biber, Kuhnau, Mattheson and others, contain little more than the germs
of the modern sonata. Haydn, building on Emanuel Bach, fixed the present
form, improving so largely upon the earlier, that we could pass from
his sonatas directly to those of Beethoven without the intervention of
Mozart's as a connecting link. Beethoven's sonatas were certainly more
influenced by Haydn's than by Mozart's. Haydn's masterpieces in this
kind, like those of Mozart and Beethoven, astonish by their order,
regularity, fluency, harmony and roundness; and by their splendid
development into full and complete growth out of the sometimes
apparently unimportant germs. [See Ernst Pauer's Musical Forms.]
Naturally his sonatas are not all masterpieces. Of the thirty-five,
some are old-fashioned and some are quite second-rate. But, like the
symphonies, they are all of historical value as showing the development
not only of the form but of the composer's powers. One of the number is
peculiar in having four movements; another is equally peculiar—to Haydn
at least—in having only two movements. Probably in the case of the
latter the curtailment was due to practical rather than to artistic
reasons. Like Beethoven, with the two-movement sonata in C minor,
Haydn may not have had time for a third! In several of the sonatas the
part-writing strikes one as being somewhat poor and meagre; in others
there is, to the modern ear, a surfeiting indulgence in those turns,
arpeggios and other ornaments which were inseparable from the nature of
the harpsichord, with its thin tones and want of sustaining power. If
Haydn had lived to write for the richer and more sustained sounds of
the modern pianoforte, his genius would no doubt have responded to
the increased demands made upon it, though we may doubt whether it was
multiplex enough or intellectual enough to satisfy the deeper needs
of our time. As it is, the changes which have been made in sonata form
since his day are merely changes of detail. To him is due the fixity of
the form. [See "The Pianoforte Sonata," by J. S. Shedlock: London, 1895.
Mr Shedlock, by selecting for analysis some of the most characteristic
sonatas, shows Haydn in his three stages of apprenticeship, mastery and
maturity.]

Church Music

Of his masses and Church music generally it is difficult to speak
critically without seeming unfair. We have seen how he explained what
must be called the almost secular style of these works. But while it is
true that Haydn's masses have kept their place in the Catholic churches
of Germany and elsewhere, it is impossible, to Englishmen, at any rate,
not to feel a certain incongruity, a lack of that dignity and solemnity,
that religious "sense," which makes our own Church music so impressive.
We must not blame him for this. He escaped the influences which
made Bach and Handel great in religious music—the influences of
Protestantism, not to say Puritanism. The Church to which he belonged
was no longer guided in its music by the principles of Palestrina. On
the contrary; it was tainted by secular and operatic influences; and
although Haydn felt himself to be thoroughly in earnest it was rather
the ornamental and decorate side of religion that he expressed in his
lively music. He might, perhaps, have written in a more serious, lofty
strain had he been brought under the noble traditions which glorified
the sacred choral works of the earlier masters just named. In any case,
his Church music has nothing of the historical value of his instrumental
music. It is marked by many sterling and admirable qualities, but the
progress of the art would not have been materially affected if it had
never come into existence.

Songs

As a song-writer Haydn was only moderately successful, perhaps because,
having himself but a slight acquaintance with literature, he left the
selection of the words to others, with, in many cases, unfortunate
results. The form does not seem to have been a favourite with him, for
his first songs were not produced until so late as 1780. Some of the
later compositions have, however, survived; and one or two of the
canzonets, such as "My mother bids me bind my hair" and "She never told
her love," are admirable. The three-part and the four-part songs, as
well as the canons, of which he thought very highly himself, are also
excellent, and still charm after the lapse of so many years.

Operas

On the subject of his operas little need be added to what has already
been said. Strictly speaking, he never had a chance of showing what he
could do with opera on a grand scale. He had to write for a small stage
and a small audience, and in so far he was probably successful. Pohl
thinks that if his project of visiting Italy had been fulfilled and his
faculties been stimulated in this direction by fresh scenes and a larger
horizon, we might have gained "some fine operas." It is doubtful; Haydn
lacked the true dramatic instinct. His placid, easy-going, contented
nature could never have allowed him to rise to great heights of dramatic
force. He was not built on a heroic mould; the meaning of tragedy was
unknown to him.

Orchestration

Regarding his orchestration a small treatise might be written. The terms
which best describe it are, perhaps, refinement and brilliancy. Much
of his success in this department must, of course, be attributed to
his long and intimate association with the Esterhazy band. In 1766,
six years after his appointment, this band numbered seventeen
instruments—six violins and viola, one violoncello, one double bass,
one flute, two oboes, two bassoons and four horns. It was subsequently
enlarged to twenty-two and twenty-four, including trumpets and
kettledrums on special occasions. From 1776 to 1778 there were also
clarinets. This gradual extension of resources may be taken as
roughly symbolizing Haydn's own advances in the matter of orchestral
development. When he wrote his first symphony in 1759 he employed first
and second violins, violas, basses, two oboes and two horns; in his last
symphony, written in 1795, he had at his command "the whole symphonic
orchestra as it had stood when Beethoven took up the work of orchestral
development." Between these two points Mozart had lived and died,
leaving Haydn his actual debtor so far as regards the increased
importance of the orchestra. It has been said that he learnt from Mozart
the use of the clarinet, and this is probably true, notwithstanding
the fact that he had employed a couple of clarinets in his first mass,
written in 1751 or 1752. Both composers used clarinets rarely, but
Haydn certainly did not reveal the real capacity of the instrument or
establish its position in the orchestra as Mozart did.

From his first works onwards, he proceeded along the true symphonic
path, and an orchestra of two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two
bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, drums, and the usual strings fairly
represents the result of his contributions to its development up to the
first successful experiments of Mozart. The names of Mozart and Haydn
ought in reality to be coupled together as the progenitors of the modern
orchestral colouring. But the superiority must be allowed to attach to
Haydn, inasmuch as his colouring is the more expansive and decided. Some
of his works, even of the later period, show great reticence in scoring,
but, on the other hand, as in "The Creation," he knew when to draw upon
the full resources of the orchestra. It has been pointed out as worthy
of remark that he was not sufficiently trustful of his instrumental
army to leave it without the weak support of the harpsichord, at which
instrument he frequently sat during the performance of his symphonies,
and played with the orchestra, with extremely bad effect. [Compare The
Orchestra and Orchestral Music, by W. J. Henderson: London, 1901.] In
this, however, he merely followed the custom of his day.

General Style

Of Haydn's general style as a composer it is hardly necessary to speak.
To say that a composition is "Haydnish" is to express in one word what
is well understood by all intelligent amateurs. Haydn's music is like
his character—clear, straightforward, fresh and winning, without the
slightest trace of affectation or morbidity. Its perfect transparency,
its firmness of design, its fluency of instrumental language, the beauty
and inexhaustible invention of its melody, its studied moderation, its
child-like cheerfulness—these are some of the qualities which mark the
style of this most genial of all the great composers.

That he was not deep, that he does not speak a message of the inner
life to the latter-day individual, who, in the Ossianic phrase, likes
to indulge in "the luxury of grief," must, of course, be admitted. The
definite embodiment of feeling which we find in Beethoven is not to be
found in him. It was not in his nature. "My music," says Schubert, "is
the production of my genius and my misery." Haydn, like Mendelssohn,
was never more than temporarily miserable. But in music the gospel of
despair seldom wants its preachers. To-day it is Tschaikowsky; to-morrow
it will be another. Haydn meant to make the world happy, not to tear it
with agony. "I know," he said, "that God has bestowed a talent upon me,
and I thank Him for it. I think I have done my duty, and been of use in
my generation by my works. Let others do the same."

APPENDIX A: HAYDN'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

The following draft of Haydn's will is copied from Lady Wallace's
Letters of Distinguished Musicians (London, 1867), where it was
published in full for the first time. The much-corrected original is in
the Court Library at Vienna. Dies says: "Six weeks before his death,
in April 1809, he read over his will to his servants in the presence
of witnesses, and asked them whether they were satisfied with his
provisions or not. The good people were quite taken by surprise at the
kindness of their master's heart, seeing themselves thus provided for
in time to come, and they thanked him with tears in their eyes." The
extracts given by Dies vary in some particulars from the following,
because Haydn's final testamentary dispositions were made at a later
date. But, as Lady Wallace says, it is not the legal but the moral
aspect of the affair that interests us. Here we see epitomized all the
goodness and beauty of Haydn's character. The document runs as follows:

FLORINS.
1. For holy masses,........................................12
2. To the Norman School,....................................5
3. To the Poorhouse,........................................5
4. To the executor of my will.............................200
And also the small portrait of Grassi.
5. To the pastor,..........................................10
6. Expenses of my funeral, first-class,...................200
7. To my dear brother Michael, in Salzburg,..............4000
8. To my brother Johann, in Eisenstadt,..................4000
9. To my sister in Rohrau (erased, and written
underneath): "God have mercy on her soul! To the
three children of my sister,".........................2000
10. To the workwoman in Esterhazy, Anna Maria Moser,
nee Frohlichin,........................................500
11. To the workwoman in Rohrau, Elisabeth, nee Bohme,......500
12. To the two workwomen there (erased, and replaced
by: "To the shoemaker, Anna Loder, in Vienna"),........200
Should she presume to make any written claims, I
declare them to be null and void, having already
paid for her and her profligate husband, Joseph
Lungmayer, more than 6000 gulden.
13. To the shoemaker in Garhaus, Theresa Hammer,............500
14. To her son, the blacksmith, Matthias Frohlich,..........500
15.&16. To the eldest child of my deceased sister,
Anna Wimmer, and her husband, at Meolo, in Hungary,.....500
17. To her married daughter at Kaposwar,....................100
18. To the other three children (erased),...................300
19. To the married Dusse, nee Scheeger,.....................300
20. To her imbecile brother, Joseph (erased),...............100
21. To her brother, Karl Scheeger, silversmith, and his
wife,...................................................900
22. To the son of Frau von Koller,..........................300
23. To his son (erased),....................................100
24. To the sister of my late wife (erased).
25. To my servant, Johann Elssler,.........................2500
Also one year's wages, likewise a coat, waistcoat
and a pair of trousers. (According to Griesinger,
Haydn bequeathed a capital of 6000 florins to this
faithful servant and copyist.)
26. To Rosalia Weber, formerly in my service,...............300
(She has a written certificate of this from me.)
27. To my present maid-servant, Anna Kremnitzer,...........1000
And a year's wages in addition. Also, her bed and
bedding and two pairs of linen sheets; also, four
chairs, a table, a chest of drawers, the watch,
the clock and the picture of the Blessed Virgin in
her room, a flat-iron, kitchen utensils and crockery,
one water-pail, and other trifles.
28. To my housekeeper, Theresia Meyer,......................500
And one year's wages,.................................20
29. To my old gardener, Michel,..............................24
30. To the Prince's Choir for my obsequies, to share
alike (erased),......................................100
31. To the priest (erased),..................................12
32. To the pastor in Eisenstadt for a solemn mass,............5
33. To his clerk,.............................................2
34. To the beneficiary,.......................................2
35. To Pastor von Nollendorf,.................................2
36. To Pastor von St Georg,...................................2
37. To the sexton (erased from 33),...........................1
38. To the organ-bellows' blower,.............................1
39. To the singer, Babett,...................................50
40. To my cousin, the saddler's wife, in Eisenstadt,.........50
To her daughter,........................................300
41. To Mesdemoiselles Anna and Josepha Dillin,..............100
42. To the blind daughter of Herr Graus, leader of
the choir in Eisenstadt (erased),.......................100
43. To the four sisters Sommerfeld, daughters of
the wigmaker in Presburg,...............................200
44. To Nannerl, daughter of Herr Weissgerb, my
neighbour (erased),......................................50
45. To Herr Art, merchant in the Kleine Steingasse,..........50
46. To the pastor in Rohrau,.................................12
47. To the schoolmaster in Rohrau,............................6
48. To the school children,...................................3
49. To Herr Wamerl, formerly with Count v. Harrach,..........50
50. To his present cashier,..................................50
51. To Count v. Harrach for the purpose of defraying
the bequests Nos. 51 and 52, I bequeath an
obligation of 6000 florins at 5 per cent., the
interest to be disposed of as follows:
To the widow Aloysia Polzelli, formerly
singer at Prince Nikolaus Esterhazy's, payable
in ready money six weeks after my death,................100
And each year, from the date of my death, for
her life, the interest of the above capital,............150
After her death her son, Anton Polzelli, to
receive 150 florins for one year, having always
been a good son to his mother and a grateful
pupil to me. N.B.—I hereby revoke the obligation
in Italian, signed by me, which may be produced
by Mdme. Polzelli, otherwise so many of my poor
relations with greater claims would receive too
little. Finally, Mdme. Polzelli must be satisfied
with the annuity of 150 florins. After her death
the half of the above capital, viz., 3000
florins, to be divided into two shares—one-half
(1500) to devolve on the Rohrau family, for the
purpose of keeping in good order the monument
erected to me by Count von Harrach, and also
that of my deceased father at the door of the
sacristy. The other half to be held in trust by
the Count, and the annual interest of the sum,
namely, 45 florins, to be divided between any
two orphans in Rohrau.
52. To my niece, Anna Lungmayer, payable six weeks
after my death,..........................................100
Likewise a yearly annuity to her husband and herself,....150
All these legacies and obligations, and also
the proceeds of the sale of my house and legal
costs, to be paid within one year of my death;
all the other expenses to be deducted from the
sum of ready money in the hands of the executors,
who must account to the heir for the same. On
their demise this annuity to go to their children
until they come of age, and after that period the
capital to be equally divided among them. Of
the remaining 950 florins, 500 to become the
property of my beloved Count v. Harrach, as the
depositary of my last will and testament, and
300 I bequeath to the agent for his trouble.
The residue of 150 florins to go to my stepmother,
and, if she be no longer living, to her
children. N.B.—Should Mdme. Lungmayer or
her husband produce any document signed by
me for a larger sum, I wish it to be understood,
as in the case of Mdme. Polzelli, that it is to be
considered null and void, as both Mdme. Lungmayer
and her husband, owing to my great kindness, lavished
more than 6000 florins of mine during my life, which
my own brother and the citizens in Oedenberg and
Eisenstadt can testify.
(From No. 51 is repeatedly and thickly scored out.)
53. To the widow Theresia Eder and her two daughters,
lacemakers,...............................................150
54. To my pupil, Anton Polzelli,..............................100
55. To poor blind Adam in Eisenstadt,..........................24
56. To my gracious Prince, my gold Parisian medal and
the letter that accompanied it, with a humble
request to grant them a place in the museum at
Forchtentein.
57. To Mdlle. C. Czeck, waiting-woman to Princess
Graschalkowitz (erased),.................................1000
58. To Fraulein Anna Bucholz,.................................100
Inasmuch as in my youth her grandfather lent
me 150 florins when I greatly needed them,
which, however, I repaid fifty years ago.
59. To the daughter of the bookkeeper, Kandler, my
piano, by the organ-builder Schanz.
60. The small Parisian medal to Count v. Harrach, and
also the bust a l'antique of Herr Grassi.
61. To the widow Wallnerin in Schottenhof,....................100
62. To the Father Prior Leo in Eisenstadt, of the
"Brothers of Mercy,".......................................50
63. To the Hospital for the Poor in Eisenstadt (erased),.......75
For the ratification of this my last will and testament, I have
written it entirely in my own hand, and earnestly beg the
authorities to consider it, even if not strictly or properly legal,
in the light at least of a codicil, and to do all in their power
to make it valid and binding.
JOSEPH HAYDN.
May 5, 1801.
Should God call me away suddenly, this my last will and testament,
though not written on stamped paper, to be considered valid in
law, and the stamps to be repaid tenfold to my sovereign.
In the name of the Holy Trinity. The uncertainty of the
period when it may please my Creator, in His infinite wisdom,
to call me from time into eternity has caused me, being in sound
health, to make my last will with regard to my little remaining
property. I commend my soul to my all-merciful Creator; my
body I wish to be interred, according to the Roman Catholic
forms, in consecrated ground. A first-class funeral. For my
soul I bequeath No. 1.
Joseph Haydn
Vienna, Dec. 6, 1801

APPENDIX B: CATALOGUE OF WORKS

There are unusual difficulties in the way of compiling a thoroughly
satisfactory catalogue of Haydn's instrumental works. From the want of
any generally-accepted consecutive numbering, and the fact that several
are in the same key, this is particularly the case with the symphonies.
Different editions have different numberings, and the confusion is
increased by a further re-numbering of the piano symphonic scores
arranged for two and four hands. In Breitkopf & Hartel's catalogue many
works are included among the symphonies which are also found among the
smaller compositions, and others are catalogued twice. Even the composer
himself, in compiling his thematic catalogue, made mistakes. In the
present list we have been content for the most part to state the numbers
of the various instrumental works, without attempting to notify each
individual composition. Indeed, to do otherwise would have called for an
extensive use of music type. Nor have we thought it necessary to include
the supposititious and doubtful works, for which Pohl's list may be
consulted.

INSTRUMENTAL

125 symphonies, including overtures to operas and plays. Of these 94
are published in parts, 40 in score; 29 remain in MS. About 40 have been
arranged for pianoforte 2 hands, 60 for 4 hands, 10 for 8 hands.

Pohl gives a thematic list of the 12 symphonies composed for Salomon,
numbered in the order of their occurrence in the catalogue of the London
Philharmonic Society. These include:

TITLE OF WORK KEY DATE
"The Surprise" G major 1791
"The Clock," referring D minor 1794
to the Andante
"The Military" G major 1794

Other symphonies known by their titles are:

TITLE OF WORK KEY DATE
"Le Matin" D major
"Le Midi" C major
"Le Soir" G major 1761
"The Farewell" A major 1772
"Maria Theresa" C major 1773
"The Schoolmaster" E flat 1774
"Feuer Symphonie" (probably
overture to "Die Feuersbrunst") A major 1774
"La Chasse" D major 1780
"Toy" Symphony C major 1780
"La Reine de France" B major for Paris, 1786
"The Oxford" G major 1788
"The Seven Words from the Cross." Originally for orchestra.
Arranged first for 2 violins, viola and bass; afterwards for soli,
chorus and orchestra.
66 various compositions for wind and strings, separately and
combined, including divertimenti, concerted pieces, etc.
7 notturnos or serenades for the lyre.
7 marches.
6 scherzandos.
1 sestet.
Several quintets.
1 "Echo" for 4 violins and 2 'cellos.
"Feld-partien" for wind instruments and arrangements from
baryton pieces.
12 collections of minuets and allemands.
31 concertos: 9 violin, 6 'cello, 1 double bass, 5 lyre, 3 baryton,
2 flute, 3 horn, 1 for 2 horns, 1 clarino (1796).
175 baryton pieces. Arrangements were published of several
of these in 3 parts, with violin (or flute), viola or 'cello as
principal.
1 duet for 2 lutes.
2 trios for lute, violin and 'cello.
1 sonata for harp, with flute and bass.
Several pieces for a musical clock.
A solo for harmonica.
6 duets for violin solo, with viola accompaniments. The
numerous printed duets for 2 violins are only arrangements from
his other works.
30 trios: 20 for 2 violins and bass, 1 for violin solo, viola
concertante and bass, 2 for flute, violin and bass, 3 for 3 flutes,
1 for corno di caccia, violin and 'cello.
77 quartets. The first 18 were published in 3 series; the
next is in MS.; then 1 printed separately; 54 in 9 series of 6
Nos. each; 2 more and the last.

CLAVIER MUSIC

20 concertos and divertimenti: 1 concerto is with principal
violin, 2 only (G and D) have been printed; the last alone
survives.
38 trios: 35 with violin and 'cello, 3 with flute and 'cello
Only 31 are printed.
53 sonatas and divertimenti. Only 35 are printed: the one
in C, containing the adagio in F included in all the collections
of smaller pieces, only in London.
4 sonatas for clavier and violin. 8 are published, but 4 of
these are arrangements.
9 smaller pieces, including 5 Nos. of variations, a capriccio, a
fantasia, 2 adagios and "differentes petites pieces."
1 duet (variations).

12 German lieder, 1782;
12 ditto, 1784;
12 single songs;
6 original canzonets, London, 1796;
6 ditto;
"The Spirit Song," Shakespeare (F minor);
"O Tuneful Voice" (E flat), composed for an English lady of position;
3 English songs in MS.;
2 duets;
3 three-part and 10 four-part songs;
3 choruses, MS.;
1 ditto from "Alfred";
The Austrian National Anthem, for single voice and in 4 parts;
42 canons in 2 and more parts;
2 ditto;
"The Ten Commandments" set to canons; the same
with different words under the title "Die zehn Gesetze der Kunst";
symphonies and accompaniments for national songs
in the collections of Whyte, Napier and George Thomson.
22 airs mostly inserted in operas.
"Ariana a Naxos," cantata for single voice and pianoforte, 1790.
"Deutschlands Klage auf den Tod Friedrichs der Grossen,"
cantata for single voice, with baryton accompaniment, 1787.

APPENDIX C: BIBLIOGRAPHY

The Haydn literature is almost entirely Continental. With the exceptions
of Pohl's article in Grove's "Dictionary of Music" and Miss Townsend's
"Haydn," nothing of real importance has appeared in English. The
following list does not profess to be complete. It seems futile in a
book of this kind to refer amateurs and students to foreign works, many
of which are out of print and others generally inaccessible. For the
benefit of English readers the English works have been placed first and
apart from the Continental. It has not been thought necessary to
follow Pohl in giving a separate list of German and other Continental
critiques. His plan of citing works in the order of their publication
has, however, been adopted as being perhaps preferable to an
alphabetical order of writers.

APPENDIX D: HAYDN'S BROTHERS

Of the large family born to the Rohrau wheelwright, two, besides the
great composer, devoted themselves to music.

The first, JOHANN EVANGELIST HAYDN, made some little reputation as a
vocalist, and was engaged in that capacity in the Esterhazy Chapel. His
health had, however, been delicate from the first, and his professional
career was far from prosperous.

JOHANN MICHAEL HAYDN was much more distinguished. Born in 1737, he
became, as we have seen, a chorister and solo-vocalist at St Stephen's,
Vienna. He was a good violinist, and played the organ so well that he
was soon able to act as deputy-organist at the cathedral. In 1757 he
was appointed Capellmeister to the Bishop of Grosswardein, and in 1762
became conductor, and subsequently leader and organist to Archbishop
Sigismund of Salzburg. There he naturally came in contact with Mozart,
in whose biography his name is often mentioned. Mozart on one occasion
wrote two compositions for him which the archbishop received as Michael
Haydn's. The Concertmeister was incapacitated by illness at the time,
and Mozart came to his rescue to save his salary, which the archbishop
had characteristically threatened to stop. Mozart also scored several of
his sacred works for practice.

Michael Haydn remained at Salzburg till his death in 1806. He had the
very modest salary of 24 pounds, with board and lodging, which
was afterwards doubled; but although he was more than once offered
preferment elsewhere, he declined to leave his beloved Salzburg. He was
happily married—in 1768—to a daughter of Lipp, the cathedral organist;
and with his church work, his pupils—among whom were Reicha and
Weber—and his compositions, he sought nothing more. When the French
entered Salzburg and pillaged the city in 1801 he was among the victims,
losing some property and a month's salary, but his brother and friends
repaired the loss with interest. This misfortune led the Empress Maria
Theresa to commission him to compose a mass, for which she rewarded him
munificently. Another of his masses was written for Prince Esterhazy,
who twice offered him the vice-Capellmeistership of the chapel at
Eisenstadt. Joseph thought Michael too straightforward for this post.
"Ours is a court life," he said, "but a very different one from yours at
Salzburg. It is uncommonly hard to do what you want." If any appointment
could have drawn him away from Salzburg it was this; and it is said that
he refused it only because he hoped that the chapel at Salzburg would be
reorganized and his salary raised.

Michael Haydn is buried in a side chapel of St Peter's Church, Salzburg.
A monument was erected in 1821, and over it is an urn containing his
skull. He is described by Pohl as "upright, good-tempered and modest;
a little rough in manners, and in later life given to drink." His
correspondence shows him to have been a warm-hearted friend; and he had
the same devout practice of initialing his manuscripts as his brother.
The latter thought highly of him as a composer, declaring that his
Church compositions were superior to his own in earnestness, severity of
style and sustained power. When he asked leave to copy the canons which
hung in Joseph's bedroom at Vienna, Joseph replied: "Get away with your
copies; you can compose much better for yourself." Michael's statement
has often been quoted: "Give me good librettos and the same patronage
as my brother, and I should not be behind him." This could scarcely have
been the case, since, as Pohl points out, Michael Haydn failed in the
very qualities which ensured his brother's success. As it was, he wrote
a very large number of works, most of which remained in manuscript. A
Mass in D is his best-known composition, though mention should be
made of the popular common-metre tune "Salzburg," adapted from a mass
composed for the use of country choirs. Michael Haydn was nominated
the great composer's sole heir, but his death frustrated the generous
intention.

APPENDIX E: A SELECTION OF HAYDN LETTERS

The greater number of Haydn's extant letters deal almost exclusively
with business matters, and are therefore of comparatively little
interest to the reader of his life. The following selection may be taken
as representing the composer in his more personal and social relations.
It is drawn from the correspondence with Frau von Genzinger, which was
discovered by Theodor Georg von Karajan, in Vienna, and published first
in the Jahrbuch fur Vaterlandische Geschichte, and afterwards in his J.
Haydn in London, 1791 and 1792 (1861). The translation here used, by the
courtesy of Messrs Longman, is that of Lady Wallace.

The name of Frau von Genzinger has been mentioned more than once in the
biography. Her husband was the Esterhazy physician. In that capacity
he paid frequent visits to Eisenstadt and Esterhaz (which Haydn spells
Estoras) and so became intimate with the Capellmeister. He was fond of
music, and during the long winter evenings in Vienna was in the habit
of assembling the best artists in his house at Schottenhof, where on
Sundays Mozart, Haydn, Dittersdorf, Albrechtsberger, and others were
often to be found. His wife, Marianne—nee von Kayser—was a good
singer, and was sought after by all the musical circles in Vienna. She
was naturally attracted to Haydn, and although she was nearly forty
years of age when the correspondence opened in 1789, "a personal
connection was gradually developed in the course of their musical
intercourse that eventually touched their hearts and gave rise to a
bright bond of friendship between the lady and the old, though still
youthful, maestro." Some brief extracts from the letters now to be given
have of necessity been worked into the biography. The correspondence
originated in the following note from Frau von Genzinger:

January 1789.

DEAR M. HAYDN,

With your kind permission I take the liberty to send a pianoforte
arrangement of the beautiful adagio in your admirable composition. I
arranged it from the score quite alone, and without the least help from
my master. I beg that, if you should discover any errors, you will be so
good as to correct them. I do hope that you are in perfect health, and
nothing do I wish more than to see you soon again in Vienna, in order to
prove further my high esteem.

Your obedient servant,

MARIA ANNA V. GENZINGER.

To this Haydn replies as follows:

ESTORAS, Janr. 14, 1789.

DEAR MADAM,

In all my previous correspondence, nothing was ever so agreeable to me
as the surprise of seeing your charming writing, and reading so many
kind expressions; but still more did I admire what you sent me—the
admirable arrangement of the adagio, which, from its correctness, might
be engraved at once by any publisher. I should like to know whether you
arranged the adagio from the score, or whether you gave yourself the
amazing trouble of first putting it into score from the separate
parts, and then arranging it for the piano, for, if the latter, such an
attention would be too flattering to me, and I feel that I really do not
deserve it.

Best and kindest Frau v. Genzinger! I only await a hint from you as to
how, and in what way, I can serve you; in the meantime, I return the
adagio, and hope that my talents, poor though they be, may ensure me
some commands from you.

I am yours, etc.,

HAYDN.

The next letter is from the lady:

VIENNA, Oct. 29, 1789.

DEAR HERR V. HAYDN,

I hope you duly received my letter of September 15, and also the first
movement of the symphony (the andante of which I sent you some months
ago), and now follows the last movement, which I have arranged for
the piano as well as it was in my power to do; I only wish that it may
please you, and earnestly beg that, if there are any mistakes in it, you
will correct them at your leisure, a service which I shall always accept
from you, my valued Herr Haydn, with the utmost gratitude. Be so good as
to let me know whether you received my letter of September 15, and the
piece of music, and if it is in accordance with your taste, which would
delight me very much, for I am very uneasy and concerned lest you should
not have got it safely, or not approve of it. I hope that you are well,
which will always be a source of pleasure to me to hear, and commending
myself to your further friendship and remembrance.

I remain, your devoted friend and servant,

MARIA ANNA V. GENZINGER. nee v. Kayser.

My husband sends you his regards.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

Nov. 9, 1789.

DEAR MADAM,

I beg your forgiveness a million times for having so long delayed
returning your laborious and admirable work: the last time my apartments
were cleared out, which occurred just after receiving your first
movement, it was mislaid by my copyist among the mass of my other music,
and only a few days ago I had the good fortune to find it in an old
opera score.

Dearest and kindest Frau v. Genzinger! do not be displeased with a man
who values you so highly; I should be inconsolable if by the delay I
were to lose any of your favour, of which I am so proud.

These two pieces are arranged quite as correctly as the first. I cannot
but admire the trouble and the patience you lavish on my poor talents;
and allow me to assure you in return that, in my frequent evil moods,
nothing cheers me so much as the flattering conviction that I am kindly
remembered by you; for which favour I kiss your hands a thousand times,
and am, with sincere esteem, your obedient servant,

JOSEPH HAYDN.

P.S.—I shall soon claim permission to wait on you.

The next letter is again from Frau v. Genzinger:

VIENNA, Nov. 12, 1789.

MY VALUED HERR V. HAYDN,

I really cannot tell you all the pleasure I felt in reading your
highly-prized letter of the 9th. How well am I rewarded for my trouble
by seeing your satisfaction! Nothing do I wish more ardently than to
have more time (now so absorbed by household affairs), for in that case
I would certainly devote many hours to music, my most agreeable and
favourite of all occupations. You must not, my dear Herr v. Haydn, take
it amiss that I plague you with another letter, but I could not but take
advantage of so good an opportunity to inform you of the safe arrival
of your letter. I look forward with the utmost pleasure to the happy day
when I am to see you in Vienna. Pray continue to give me a place in your
friendship and remembrance.

Your sincere and devoted friend and servant.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, Nov. 18, 1789.

DEAR LADY,

The letter which I received through Herr Siebert gave me another proof
of your excellent heart, as instead of a rebuke for my late remissness,
you express yourself in so friendly a manner towards me, that so much
indulgence, kindness and great courtesy cause me the utmost surprise,
and I kiss your hands in return a thousand times. If my poor talents
enable me to respond in any degree to so much that is flattering, I
venture, dear madam, to offer you a little musical potpourri. I do not,
indeed, find in it much that is fragrant; perhaps the publisher may
rectify the fault in future editions. If the arrangement of the symphony
in it be yours, oh! then I shall be twice as much pleased with the
publisher; if not, I venture to ask you to arrange a symphony, and to
transcribe it with your own hand, and to send it to me here, when I will
at once forward it to my publisher at Leipzig to be engraved.

I am happy to have found an opportunity that leads me to hope for a few
more charming lines from you.

I am, etc.,

JOSEPH HAYDN.

Shortly after the date of this letter Hadyn was again in Vienna, when
the musical evenings at Schottenhof were renewed. The Herr v. Haring
referred to in the following note is doubtless the musical banker, well
known as a violinist in the Vienna of the time.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

Jan. 23, 1790.

DEAR, KIND FRAU V. GENZINGER,

I beg to inform you that all arrangements are now completed for the
little quartet party that we agreed to have next Friday. Herr v. Haring
esteemed himself very fortunate in being able to be of use to me on this
occasion, and the more so when I told him of all the attention I had
received from you, and your other merits.

What I care about is a little approval. Pray don't forget to invite the
Pater Professor. Meanwhile, I kiss your hands, and am, with profound
respect, yours, etc.,

HAYDN.

A call to return to Esterhaz put an end to these delights of personal
intercourse, as will be gathered from the following letter:

To Frau v. Genzinger.

Feb. 3, 1790.

NOBLEST AND KINDEST LADY,

However flattering the last invitation you gave me yesterday to spend
this evening with you, I feel with deep regret that I am even unable to
express to you personally my sincere thanks for all your past kindness.
Bitterly as I deplore this, with equal truth do I fervently wish you,
not only on this evening, but ever and always, the most agreeable
social "reunions"—mine are all over—and to-morrow I return to dreary
solitude! May God only grant me health; but I fear the contrary, being
far from well to-day. May the Almighty preserve you, dear lady, and your
worthy husband, and all your beautiful children. Once more I kiss your
hands, and am unchangeably while life lasts, yours, etc.,

HAYDN.

The next letter was written six days later, evidently in the most
doleful mood:

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, Feb. 9, 1790.

MUCH ESTEEMED AND KINDEST FRAU V. GENZINGER,—

Well! here I sit in my wilderness; forsaken, like some poor orphan,
almost without human society; melancholy, dwelling on the memory of past
glorious days. Yes; past, alas! And who can tell when these happy hours
may return? those charming meetings? where the whole circle have but
one heart and one soul—all those delightful musical evenings, which
can only be remembered, and not described. Where are all those inspired
moments? All gone—and gone for long. You must not be surprised, dear
lady, that I have delayed writing to express my gratitude. I found
everything at home in confusion; for three days I did not know whether
I was capell master, or capell servant; nothing could console me; my
apartments were all in confusion; my pianoforte, that I formerly loved
so dearly, was perverse and disobedient, and rather irritated than
soothed me. I slept very little, and even my dreams persecuted me, for,
while asleep, I was under the pleasant delusion that I was listening to
the opera of "Le Nozze di Figaro," when the blustering north wind woke
me, and almost blew my nightcap off my head.

[The portion of the letter deleted is that given at page 161, beginning,
"I lost twenty pounds in weight."]

...Forgive me, dear lady, for taking up your time in this very first
letter by so wretched a scrawl, and such stupid nonsense; you must
forgive a man spoilt by the Viennese. Now, however, I begin to accustom
myself by degrees to country life, and yesterday I studied for the first
time, and somewhat in the Haydn style too.

No doubt, you have been more industrious than myself. The pleasing
adagio from the quartet has probably now received its true expression
from your fair fingers. I trust that my good Fraulein Peperl [Joseph
A., one of the Genzinger children.] may be frequently reminded of
her master, by often singing over the cantata, and that she will pay
particular attention to distinct articulation and correct vocalization,
for it would be a sin if so fine a voice were to remain imprisoned in
the breast. I beg, therefore, for a frequent smile, or else I shall
be much vexed. I advise M. Francois [Franz, author of the Genzinger
children.] too to cultivate his musical talents. Even if he sings in his
dressing-gown, it will do well enough, and I will often write something
new to encourage him. I again kiss your hands in gratitude for all the
kindness you have shown me. I am, etc.,

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, March 14, 1790.

MOST VALUED, ESTEEMED AND KINDEST FRAU V. GENZINGER,

I ask forgiveness a million times for having so long delayed answering
your two charming letters, which has not been caused by negligence (a
sin from which may Heaven preserve me so long as I live), but from the
press of business which has devolved on me for my gracious Prince, in
his present melancholy condition. The death of his wife overwhelmed the
Prince with such grief that we were obliged to use every means in our
power to rouse him from his profound sorrow. I therefore arranged for
the three first days a selection of chamber music, but no singing. The
poor Prince, however, the first evening, on hearing my favourite Adagio
in D, was affected by such deep melancholy that it was difficult to
disperse it by other pieces. On the fourth day we had an opera, the
fifth a comedy, and then our theatre daily as usual...

You must now permit me to kiss your hands gratefully for the rusks you
sent me, which, however, I did not receive till last Tuesday; but they
came exactly at the right moment, having just finished the last of the
others. That my favourite "Ariadne" has been successful at Schottenhof
is delightful news to me, but I recommend Fraulein Peperl to articulate
the words clearly, especially in the words "Che tanto amai." I also
take the liberty of wishing you all possible good on your approaching
nameday, begging you to continue your favour towards me, and to consider
me on every occasion as your own, though unworthy, master. I must also
mention that the teacher of languages can come here any day, and his
journey will be paid. He can travel either by the diligence or by some
other conveyance, which can always be heard of in the Madschaker Hof. As
I feel sure, dear lady, that you take an interest in all that concerns
me (far greater than I deserve), I must inform you that last week
I received a present of a handsome gold snuff-box, the weight of
thirty-four ducats, from Prince Oetting v. Wallerstein, accompanied
by an invitation to pay him a visit this year, the Prince defraying my
expenses, His Highness being desirous to make my personal acquaintance
(a pleasing fillip to my depressed spirits). Whether I shall make up my
mind to the journey is another question.

I beg you will excuse this hasty scrawl.

I am always, etc.,

HAYDN.

P.S.—I have just lost my faithful coachman; he died on the 25th of last
month.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, May 13, 1790.

BEST AND KINDEST FRAU V. GENZINGER,

I was quite surprised, on receiving your esteemed letter, to find
that you had not yet got my last letter, in which I mentioned that our
landlord had accepted the services of a French teacher, who came by
chance to Estoras, and I also made my excuses both to you and your tutor
on that account. My highly esteemed benefactress, this is not the first
time that some of my letters and of others also have been lost, inasmuch
as our letter bag, on its way to Oedenburg (in order to have letters put
into it), is always opened by the steward there, which has frequently
been the cause of mistake and other disagreeable occurrences. For
greater security, however, and to defeat such disgraceful curiosity,
I will henceforth enclose all my letters in a separate envelope to the
porter, Herr Pointer. This trick annoys me the more because you might
justly reproach me with procrastination, from which may Heaven defend
me! At all events, the prying person, whether male or female, cannot,
either in this last letter or in any of the others, have discovered
anything in the least inconsistent with propriety. And now, my esteemed
patroness, when am I to have the inexpressible happiness of seeing you
in Estoras? As business does not admit of my going to Vienna, I console
myself by the hope of kissing your hands here this summer. In which
pleasing hope, I am, with high consideration, etc., yours,

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, May 30, 1790.

KINDEST AND BEST FRAU V. GENZINGER,

I was at Oedenburg when I received your last welcome letter, having gone
there on purpose to enquire about the lost letter. The steward there
vowed by all that was holy that he had seen no letter at that time in my
writing, so that it must have been lost in Estoras! Be this as it
may, such curiosity can do me no harm, far less yourself, as the whole
contents of the letter were an account of my opera "La Vera Costanza,"
performed in the new theatre in the Landstrasse, and about the French
teacher who was to have come at that time to Estoras. You need,
therefore, be under no uneasiness, dear lady, either as regards the past
or the future, for my friendship and esteem for you (tender as they are)
can never become reprehensible, having always before my eyes respect
for your elevated virtues, which not only I, but all who know you, must
reverence. Do not let this deter you from consoling me sometimes by your
agreeable letters, as they are so highly necessary to cheer me in this
wilderness, and to soothe my deeply wounded heart. Oh! that I could be
with you, dear lady, even for one quarter of an hour, to pour forth all
my sorrows, and to receive comfort from you. I am obliged to submit to
many vexations from our official managers here, which, however, I shall
at present pass over in silence. The sole consolation left me is that I
am, thank God, well, and eagerly disposed to work. I only regret
that, with this inclination, you have waited so long for the promised
symphony. On this occasion it really proceeds from absolute necessity,
arising from my circumstances, and the raised prices of everything. I
trust, therefore, that you will not be displeased with your Haydn,
who, often as his Prince absents himself from Estoras, never can obtain
leave, even for four-and-twenty hours, to go to Vienna. It is scarcely
credible, and yet the refusal is always couched in such polite terms,
and in such a manner, as to render it utterly impossible for me to urge
my request for leave of absence. Well, as God pleases! This time
also will pass away, and the day, return when I shall again have the
inexpressible pleasure of being seated beside you at the pianoforte,
hearing Mozart's masterpieces, and kissing your hands from gratitude for
so much pleasure. With this hope, I am, etc.,

J. HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, June 6, 1790.

DEAR AND ESTEEMED LADY,

I heartily regret that you were so long in receiving my last letter. But
the previous week no messenger was despatched from Estoras, so it was
not my fault that the letter reached you so late.

Between ourselves! I must inform you that Mademoiselle Nanette has
commissioned me to compose a new sonata for you, to be given into
your hands alone. I esteem myself fortunate in having received such
a command. You will receive the sonata in a fortnight at latest.
Mademoiselle Nanette promised me payment for the work, but you can
easily imagine that on no account would I accept it. For me the best
reward will always be to hear that I have in some degree met with your
approval. I am, etc.,

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, June 20, 1790.

DEAR, KIND FRIEND,

I take the liberty of sending you a new pianoforte sonata with violin or
flute, not as anything at all remarkable, but as a trifling resource in
case of any great ennui. I only beg that you will have it copied out as
soon as possible, and then return it to me. The day before yesterday
I presented to Mademoiselle Nanette the sonata commanded by her. I had
hoped she would express a wish to hear me play it, but I have not yet
received any order to that effect; I, therefore, do not know whether
you will receive it by this post or not. The sonata is in E flat, newly
written, and always intended for you. It is strange enough that the
final movement of this sonata contains the very same minuet and trio
that you asked me for in your last letter. This identical work was
destined for you last year, and I have only written a new adagio since
then, which I strongly recommend to your attention. It has a deep
signification which I will analyze for you when opportunity offers. It
is rather difficult, but full of feeling. What a pity that you have not
one of Schanz's pianos, for then you could produce twice the effect!

N.B.—Mademoiselle Nanette must know nothing of the sonata being already
half written before I received her commands, for this might suggest
notions with regard to me that I might find most prejudicial, and I
must be very careful not to lose her favour. In the meanwhile I consider
myself fortunate to be the means of giving her pleasure, particularly as
the sacrifice is made for your sake, my charming Frau v. Genzinger. Oh!
how I do wish that I could only play over these sonatas once or twice to
you; how gladly would I then reconcile myself to remain for a time in my
wilderness! I have much to say and to confess to you, from which no one
but yourself can absolve me; but what cannot be effected now will, I
devoutly hope, come to pass next winter, and half of the time is already
gone. Meanwhile I take refuge in patience, and am content with the
inestimable privilege of subscribing myself your sincere and obedient
friend and servant

J. HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

ESTORAS, June 27, 1790.

HIGHLY ESTEEMED LADY,

You have no doubt by this time received the new pianoforte sonata, and,
if not, you will probably do so along with this letter. Three days ago I
played the sonata to Mademoiselle Nanette in the presence of my gracious
Prince. At first I doubted very much, owing to its difficulty, whether I
should receive any applause, but was soon convinced of the reverse by a
gold snuff-box being presented to me by Mademoiselle Nanette's own hand.
My sole wish now is, that you may be satisfied with it, so that I may
find greater credit with my patroness. For the same reason, I beg that
either you or your husband will let her know "that my delight was such
that I could not conceal her generosity," especially being convinced
that you take an interest in all benefits conferred on me. It is a pity
that you have not a Schanz pianoforte, which is much more favourable
to expression; my idea is that you should make over your own still very
tolerable piano to Fraulein Peperl, and get a new one for yourself. Your
beautiful hands, and their brilliant execution, deserve this, and more.
I know that I ought to have composed the sonata in accordance with the
capabilities of your piano, but, being so unaccustomed to this, I found
it impossible, and now I am doomed to stay at home. What I lose by so
doing you can well imagine: It is indeed sad always to be a slave—but
Providence wills it so. I am a poor creature, plagued perpetually by
hard work, and with few hours for recreation. Friends? What do I say?
One true friend; there are no longer any true friends, but one female
friend. Oh yes! no doubt I still have one, but she is far away. Ah
well! I take refuge in my thoughts. May God bless her, and may she never
forget me! Meanwhile I kiss your hands a thousand times, and ever am,
etc.,

I this moment receive your letter, and at the same time the post
departs. I sincerely rejoice to hear that my Prince intends to present
you with a new piano, more especially as I am in some measure the
cause of this, having been constantly imploring Mademoiselle Nanette to
persuade your husband to purchase one for you. The choice now depends
entirely on yourself, and the chief point is that you should select one
in accordance with your touch and your taste. Certainly my friend,
Herr Walter, is very celebrated, and every year I receive the greatest
civility from him; but, entre nous, and to speak candidly, sometimes
there is not more than one out of ten of his instruments which may be
called really good, and they are exceedingly high priced besides. I know
Herr Nickl's piano; it is first-rate, but too heavy for your touch;
nor can every passage be rendered with proper delicacy on it. I should,
therefore, like you to try one of Herr Schanz's pianos, for they have
a remarkably light and agreeable touch. A good pianoforte is absolutely
necessary for you, and my sonata will also gain vastly by it.

Meanwhile I thank you much, dear lady, for your caution with regard to
Mademoiselle Nanette. It is a pity that the little gold box she gave me,
and had used herself, is tarnished, but perhaps I may get it polished up
in Vienna. I have as yet received no orders to purchase a pianoforte. I
fear that one may be sent to your house, which may be handsome outside,
but the touch within heavy. If your husband will rely on my opinion,
that Herr Schanz is the best maker for this class of instruments, I
would then settle everything at once. In great haste, yours, etc.,

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

Estoras, August 15.

I ought to have written to you last week in answer to your letter, but
as this day has been long enshrined in my heart, I have been striving
earnestly all the time to think how and what I was to wish for you; so
thus eight days passed, and now, when my wishes ought to be expressed,
my small amount of intellect comes to a standstill, and (quite abashed)
I find nothing to say; why? wherefore? because I have not been able to
fulfill those musical hopes for this particular day that you have justly
the right to expect. Oh, my most charming and kind benefactress! if
you could only know, or see into my troubled heart on this subject, you
would certainly feel pity and indulgence for me. The unlucky promised
symphony has haunted my imagination ever since it was bespoken, and it
is only, alas! the pressure of urgent occurrences that has prevented its
being hitherto ushered into the world! The hope, however, of your lenity
towards me for the delay, and the approaching time of the fulfillment
of my promise, embolden me to express my wish, which, among the hundreds
offered to you to-day and yesterday, may perhaps appear to you only an
insignificant interloper; I say perhaps, for it would be too bold in me
to think that you could form no better wish for yourself than mine. You
see, therefore, most kind and charming lady, that I can wish nothing
for you on your nameday, because my wishes are too feeble, and therefore
unproductive. As for me, I venture to wish for myself your kind
indulgence, and the continuance of your friendship, and the goodness
that I so highly prize. This is my warmest wish! But if any wish of mine
may be permitted, then mine shall become identical with your own, for
thus I shall feel assured that none other remains, except the wish once
more to be allowed to subscribe myself your very sincere friend and
servant,

HAYDN.

No further letters appear to have been addressed to the lady until
Haydn started on his first visit to London in December 1790. One or two
extracts from these London letters have been used in Chapter V., but as
the repetitions will be very slight, we allow the letters to stand as
they are.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

CALAIS, Decr. 31, 1790.

HIGHLY HONOURED LADY,

A violent storm and an incessant pour of rain prevented our arriving at
Calais till this evening (where I am now writing to you), and to-morrow
at seven in the morning we cross the sea to London. I promised to write
from Brussels, but we could only stay there an hour. I am very well,
thank God! although somewhat thinner, owing to fatigue, irregular sleep,
and eating and drinking so many different things. A few days hence I
will describe the rest of my journey, but I must beg you to excuse me
for to-day. I hope to heaven that you and your husband and children are
all well.

I am, with high esteem, etc., yours,

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, Jan. 8, 1791.

I thought that you had received my last letter from Calais. I ought,
indeed, according to my promise, to have sent you some tidings of myself
when I arrived in London, but I preferred waiting a few days that I
might detail various incidents to you. I must now tell you that on New
Year's Day, after attending early mass, I took ship at half-past seven
o'clock a.m., and at five o'clock in the afternoon arrived safe and well
at Dover, for which Heaven be praised! During the first four hours there
was scarcely any wind, and the vessel made so little way that in that
time we only went one English mile, there being twenty-four between
Calais and Dover. The ship's captain, in the worst possible humour,
said that if the wind did not change we should be at sea all night.
Fortunately, however, towards half-past eleven o'clock such a favourable
breeze began to blow that by four o'clock we had come twenty-two miles.
As the ebb of the tide prevented our large vessel making the pier, two
small boats were rowed out to meet us, into which we and our luggage
were transferred, and at last we landed safely, though exposed to a
sharp gale. The large vessel stood out to sea five hours longer, till
the tide carried it into the harbour. Some of the passengers, being
afraid to trust themselves in the small boats, stayed on board, but I
followed the example of the greater number. I remained on deck during
the whole passage, in order to gaze my fill at that huge monster, the
Ocean. So long as there was a calm I had no fears, but when at length
a violent wind began to blow, rising every minute, and I saw the
boisterous high waves running on, I was seized with a little alarm,
and a little indisposition likewise. But I overcame it all, and arrived
safely in harbour, without being actually ill. Most of the passengers
were ill, and looked like ghosts. I did not feel the fatigue of the
journey till I arrived in London, but it took two days before I could
recover from it. But now I am quite fresh and well, and occupied in
looking at this mighty and vast town of London, its various beauties and
marvels causing me the most profound astonishment. I immediately paid
the necessary visits, such as to the Neapolitan Minister and to our own.
Both called on me in return two days afterwards, and a few days ago I
dined with the former—nota bene, at six o'clock in the evening, which
is the fashion here.

My arrival caused a great sensation through the whole city, and I went
the round of all the newspapers for three successive days. Everyone
seems anxious to know me. I have already dined out six times, and could
be invited every day if I chose; but I must in the first place consider
my health, and in the next my work. Except the nobility, I admit no
visitors till two o'clock in the afternoon, and at four o'clock I dine
at home with Salomon. I have a neat, comfortable lodging, but very
dear. My landlord is an Italian, and likewise a cook, who gives us
four excellent dishes; we each pay one florin thirty kreuzers a day,
exclusive of wine and beer, but everything is terribly dear here. I was
yesterday invited to a grand amateur concert, but as I arrived rather
late, when I gave my ticket, they would not let me in, but took me to an
ante-room, where I was obliged to remain till the piece which was then
being given was over. Then they opened the door, and I was conducted,
leaning on the arm of the director, up the centre of the room to the
front of the orchestra amid universal clapping of hands, stared at by
everyone, and greeted by a number of English compliments. I was assured
that such honours had not been conferred on anyone for fifty years.
After the concert I was taken into a very handsome room adjoining, where
tables were laid for all the amateurs, to the number of two hundred.
It was proposed that I should take a seat near the top, but as it so
happened that I had dined out that very day, and ate more than usual, I
declined the honour, excusing myself under the pretext of not being very
well; but in spite of this, I could not get off drinking the health, in
Burgundy, of the harmonious gentlemen present; all responded to it,
but at last allowed me to go home. All this, my dear lady, was very
flattering to me; still I wish I could fly for a time to Vienna, to have
more peace to work, for the noise in the streets, and the cries of the
common people selling their wares, is intolerable. I am still working at
symphonies, as the libretto of the opera is not yet decided on, but in
order to be more quiet, I intend to engage an apartment some little way
out of town. I would gladly write more at length, but I fear losing this
opportunity. With kindest regards to your husband, Fraulein Pepi, and
all the rest, I am, with sincere esteem, etc.,

HAYDN.

P.S.—I have a request to make. I think I must have left my symphony in
E flat, that you returned to me, in my room at home, or mislaid it on
the journey. I missed it yesterday, and being in pressing need of it, I
beg you urgently to procure it for me, through my kind friend, Herr v.
Kees. Pray have it copied out in your own house, and send it by post as
soon as possible. If Herr v. Kees hesitates about this, which I don't
think likely, pray send him this letter. My address is, M. Haydn, 18
Great Pulteney Street, London.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, Sept. 17, 1791.

MY HIGHLY ESTEEMED FRIEND,

I have received no reply to my two letters of July 3, entrusted to
the care of a composer, Herr Diettenhofer, by whom I likewise sent the
pianoforte arrangement of an andante in one of my new symphonies. Nor
have I any answer either about the symphony in E flat, that I wished to
get. I can now no longer delay inquiring after your own health, as
well as that of your husband, and all your dear family. Is that odious
proverb, "Out of sight, out of mind," to prove true everywhere? Oh no!
urgent affairs or the loss of my letter and the symphony are, no doubt,
the cause of your silence. I feel assured of Herr von Kees's willingness
to send the symphony, as he said he would do so in his letter; so
it seems we shall both have to deplore a loss, and must trust to
Providence. I flatter myself I shall receive a short answer to this.
Now, my dear, good, kind lady, what is your piano about? Is a thought of
Haydn sometimes recalled by your fair hand? Does my sweet Fraulein
Pepi ever sing poor "Ariadne"? Oh yes! I seem to hear it even here,
especially during the last two months, when I have been residing in
the country, amid lovely scenery, with a banker, whose heart and family
resemble the Genzingers, and where I live as in a monastery. God be
praised! I am in good health, with the exception of my usual rheumatic
state. I work hard, and in the early mornings, when I walk in the wood
alone with my English grammar, I think of my Creator, of my family, and
of all the friends I have left—and of these you are the most valued of
all.

I had hoped, indeed, sooner to have enjoyed the felicity of seeing you
again; but my circumstances, in short, fate so wills it that I must
remain eight or ten months longer in London. Oh, my dear, good lady, how
sweet is some degree of liberty! I had a kind Prince, but was obliged at
times to be dependent on base souls. I often sighed for release, and now
I have it in some measure. I am quite sensible of this benefit, though
my mind is burdened with more work. The consciousness of being no longer
a bond-servant sweetens all my toils. But, dear as liberty is to me,
I do hope on my return again to enter the service of Prince Esterhazy,
solely for the sake of my poor family. I doubt much whether I shall find
this desire realized, for in his letter my Prince complains of my long
absence, and exacts my speedy return in the most absolute terms; which,
however, I cannot comply with, owing to a new contract I have entered
into here. I, alas! expect my dismissal; but I hope even in that case
that God will be gracious to me, and enable me in some degree to remedy
the loss by my own industry. Meanwhile I console myself by the hope of
soon hearing from you. You shall receive my promised new symphony two
months hence; but in order to inspire me with good ideas, I beg you will
write to me, and a long letter too.

Yours, etc.

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, Oct. 13, 1791.

I take the liberty of earnestly entreating you to advance 150 florins
for a short time to my wife, provided you do not imagine that since
my journey I have become a bad manager. No, my kind, good friend, God
blesses my efforts. Three circumstances are alone to blame. In the first
place, since I have been here, I have repaid my Prince the 450 florins
he advanced for my journey; secondly, I can demand no interest from my
bank obligations, having placed them under your care, and not being
able to remember either the names or the numbers, so I cannot write a
receipt; thirdly, I cannot yet apply for the 5883 florins (1000 of which
I recently placed in my Prince's hands, and the rest with the Count v.
Fries), especially because it is English money. You will, therefore, see
that I am no spendthrift. This leads me to hope that you will not refuse
my present request, to lend my wife 150 florins. This letter must
be your security, and would be valid in any court. I will repay the
interest of the money with a thousand thanks on my return.

I am, etc.,

HAYDN.

...I believe you received my letter the very same day that I was reading
your cruel reproach that Haydn was capable of forgetting his friend and
benefactress. Oh! how often do I long to be beside you at the piano,
even for a quarter of an hour, and then to have some good German soup.
But we cannot have everything in this world. May God only vouchsafe to
grant me the health that I have hitherto enjoyed, and may I preserve it
by good conduct and out of gratitude to the Almighty! That you are well
is to me the most delightful of all news. May Providence long watch
over you! I hope to see you in the course of six months, when I shall,
indeed, have much to tell you. Good-night! it is time to go to bed; it
is half-past eleven o'clock. One thing more. To insure the safety of the
money, Herr Hamberger, a good friend of mine, a man of tall stature, our
landlord, will bring you this letter himself, and you can with impunity
entrust him with the money; but I beg you will take a receipt both from
him and from my wife.

Among other things, Herr v. Kees writes to me that he should like to
know my position in London, as there are so many different reports about
me in Vienna. From my youth upwards I have been exposed to envy, so it
does not surprise me when any attempt is made wholly to crush my poor
talents; but the Almighty above is my support. My wife wrote to me that
Mozart depreciates me very much, but this I will never believe. If true,
I forgive him. There is no doubt that I find many who are envious of me
in London also, and I know them almost all. Most of them are Italians.
But they can do me no harm, for my credit with this nation has been
firmly established far too many years. Rest assured that, if I had not
met with a kind reception, I would long since have gone back to Vienna.
I am beloved and esteemed by everyone, except, indeed, professors [of
music]. As for my remuneration, Mozart can apply to Count Fries for
information, in whose hands I placed 500 pounds, and 1000 guilders in
those of my Prince, making together nearly 6000 florins. I daily thank
my Creator for this boon, and I have good hope that I may bring home a
couple of thousands besides, notwithstanding, my great outlay and the
cost of the journey. I will now no longer intrude on your time. How
badly this is written! What is Pater —— doing? My compliments to him.

Yours, etc.

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, Nov. 17, 1791.

I write in the greatest haste, to request that you will send the
accompanying packet, addressed to you, to Herr v. Kees, as it contains
the two new symphonies I promised. I waited for a good opportunity, but
could hear of none; I have therefore been obliged to send them after
all by post. I beg you will ask Herr v. Kees to have a rehearsal of
both these symphonies, as they are very delicate, particularly the last
movement in D, which I recommend to be given as pianissimo as possible,
and the tempo very quick. I will write to you again in a few days. Nota
bene, I was obliged to enclose both the symphonies to you, not knowing
the address of Herr v. Kees.

I am, etc.

HAYDN.

P.S.—I only returned here to-day from the country. I have been staying
with a mylord for the last fortnight, a hundred miles from London.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, Dec. 20, 1791.

I am much surprised that you did not get my letter at the same time as
the two symphonies, having put them myself into the post here, and
given every direction about them. My mistake was not having enclosed the
letter in the packet. This is what often happens, dear lady, with those
who have too much head work. I trust, however, that the letter reached
you soon afterwards, but in case it did not, I must here explain that
both symphonies were intended for Herr v. Kees, but with the stipulation
that, after being copied by his order, the scores were to be given up
to you, so that you may prepare a pianoforte arrangement of them, if
you are so disposed. The particular symphony intended for you will be
finished by the end of February at latest. I regret much having been
obliged to forward the heavy packet to you, from not knowing Herr v.
Kees's address; but he will, of course, repay you the cost of postage,
and also, I hope, hand you over seven ducats. May I, therefore, ask
you to employ a portion of that sum in copying on small paper my
often-applied-for symphony in E minor, and forward it to me by post as
soon as possible, for it may perhaps be six months before a courier
is despatched from Vienna, and I am in urgent need of the symphony.
Further, I must plague you once more by asking you to buy at Artaria's
my last pianoforte sonata in A flat, that is, with 4 B flat minor,
with violin and violoncello, and also another piece, the fantasia in C,
without accompaniment, for these pieces are not yet published in London;
but be so good as not to mention this to Herr Artaria, or he might
anticipate the sale in England. I beg you will deduct the price from
the seven ducats. To return to the aforesaid symphonies, I must tell you
that I sent you a pianoforte arrangement of the andante in C minor by
Herr Diettenhofer. It is reported here, however, that he either died on
the journey, or met with some serious accident. You had better look
over both pieces at your leisure. The principal part of the letter I
entrusted to Herr Diettenhofer was the description of a Doctor's degree
being conferred on me at Oxford, and all the honours I then received. I
must take this opportunity of mentioning that three weeks ago the Prince
of Wales invited me to his brother's country seat. The Prince presented
me to the Duchess (a daughter of the King of Prussia), who received
me very graciously, and said many flattering things. She is the most
charming lady in the world, possesses much intelligence, plays the
piano, and sings very pleasingly. I stayed two days there, because on
the first day a slight indisposition prevented her having any music;
on the second day, however, she remained beside me from ten o'clock
at night, when the music began, till two hours after midnight. No
compositions played but Haydn's. I directed the symphonies at the piano.
The sweet little lady sat close beside me at my left hand, and hummed
all the pieces from memory, having heard them so repeatedly in Berlin.
The Prince of Wales sat on my right hand, and accompanied me very
tolerably on the violoncello. They made me sing too. The Prince of Wales
is having me painted just now, and the portrait is to be hung up in his
private sitting-room. The Prince of Wales is the handsomest man on
God's earth; he has an extraordinary love of music, and a great deal
of feeling, but very little money. Nota bene, this is entre nous. His
kindness gratifies me far more than any self-interest; on the third day,
as I could not get any post-horses, the Duke of York sent me two stages
with his own.

Now, dear lady, I should like to reproach you a little for believing
that I prefer London to Vienna, and find my residence here more
agreeable than in my fatherland. I am far from hating London, but I
could not reconcile myself to spend my life there; no, not even to amass
millions; my reasons I will tell you when we meet. I think of my home,
and embracing once more all my old friends, with the delight of a child;
only I deeply lament that the great Mozart will not be of the number, if
it be true, which I trust it is not, that he is dead. Posterity will not
see such talent as his for the next hundred years! I am happy to hear
that you and yours are all so well. I, too, have hitherto been in
excellent health, till eight days since, when I was attacked by English
rheumatism, and so severely that sometimes I could not help crying out
aloud; but I hope soon to get quit of it, as I have adopted the usual
custom here, and have wrapped myself up from head to foot in flannel.
Pray excuse my bad writing. In the hope of soon being gratified by
a letter, and with all esteem for yourself, and best regards to your
husband, my dear Fraulein Pepi, and the others.

I must ask your forgiveness a thousand times; and I own and bemoan that
I have been too dilatory in the performance of my promise, but if you
could only see how I am importuned to attend private concerts, causing
me great loss of time, and the mass of work with which I am burdened,
you would indeed, dear lady, feel the utmost compassion for me. Never
in my life did I write so much in one year as during the last, which has
indeed utterly exhausted me, and it will do me good to be able to take
a little rest when I return home. At present I am working for Salomon's
concerts, and feel bound to take all possible trouble, for our rivals of
the Professional Society have sent for my pupil Pleyel from Strassburg,
to direct their concerts. So a bloody harmonious war will now commence
between master and scholar. All the newspapers have begun to discuss
the subject, but I think an alliance will soon ensue, my reputation here
being so firmly established. Pleyel, on his arrival, displayed so much
modesty towards me that he gained my goodwill afresh. We are very often
together, which is much to his credit, and he knows how to appreciate
his "father"; we will share our laurels fairly, and each go home
satisfied. Professional Concerts met with a great misfortune on the 14th
of this month, by the Pantheon being entirely burned down, a theatre
only built last year. It was the work of an incendiary, and the damage
is estimated at more than 100,000 pounds sterling; so there is not a
single Italian theatre in London at this moment. Now, my dear angelic
lady, I have a little fault to find with you. How often have I
reiterated my request to have my symphony in E minor, of which I sent
you the theme, copied out on small paper, and sent to me by post? Long
have I sighed for it, and if I do not get it by the end of next month
I shall lose twenty guineas. Herr v. Kees writes that the copy may
possibly arrive in London three months hence, or three years, for there
is no chance of a courier being sent off at present. I also told Herr v.
Kees in the same letter to take charge of this, and if he could not do
so, I ventured to transfer the commission to you, flattering myself that
my urgent request would certainly be fulfilled by your kindness. I also
desired Herr v. Kees to repay you the cost of the postage you paid for
his packet. Kindest and most charming Frau v. Genzinger, I once more beg
you to see to this matter, for it is really a work of mercy, and when we
meet I will explain my reasons, respectfully kiss your fair hands, and
repay my debt with gratitude. The celebration you mention in honour of
my poor abilities touched me deeply, but still not so profoundly as
if you had considered it more perfect. Perhaps I may supply this
imperfection by another symphony which I will shortly send you; I say
perhaps, because I (or rather my brain) am in truth weary. Providence
alone can repair the deficiency in my powers, and to Him I daily pray
for aid, for without His support I should indeed be a poor creature! And
now, my kind and dear friend, I venture to hope for your indulgence.
Oh yes! your portrait is at this moment before me, and I hear it say,
"Well, for this time, you odious Haydn, I will forgive you, but—but!"
No, no, I mean henceforth strictly to fulfill my duties. I must conclude
for to-day by saying that now, as ever, I am, with the highest esteem,
yours, etc.,

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, Feb. 2, 1792.

I have to-day received your kind letter, and also the fantasia, and
sonata a tre. I was, however, rather vexed, on opening the packet, not
to find the long-looked-for symphony in E minor, which I had fully hoped
for, and expected. Dear lady, I entreat you to send it at once, written
on small post paper, and I will gladly pay all expenses, for Heaven
alone can tell when the symphonies from Brussels may arrive here.
I cannot dispense with this one, without incurring great loss. Pray
forgive my plaguing you so often on the subject, but I shall indeed
be truly grateful if you will send it. Being overwhelmed with work at
present, I cannot as yet write to Herr v. Kees. Pray, then, apply to him
yourself for the said symphony.

With my kind respects, I am, yours, etc.,

HAYDN.

You shall have a good portion of the sewing needles.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, March 2, 1792.

Yesterday morning I received your valued letter, and also the
long-looked-for symphony. I humbly kiss your hands for sending it so
safely and quickly. I had indeed received it six days previously from
Brussels, through Herr v. Kees; but the score was more useful, as a good
deal must be altered in it to suit the English taste. I only regret that
I must trouble you so frequently with my commissions, especially as at
present I cannot adequately testify my gratitude. I do positively assure
and declare to you that this causes me great embarrassment, and indeed
often makes me feel very sad; the more so that, owing to various urgent
causes, I am unable to send you as yet the new symphony dedicated to
you. First, because I wish to alter and embellish the last movement,
which is too feeble when compared with the first. I felt this conviction
myself quite as much as the public, when it was performed for the first
time last Friday; notwithstanding which, it made the most profound
impression on the audience. The second reason is that I really dread the
risk of its falling into other hands. I was not a little startled when
I read the unpleasant intelligence about the sonata. By Heavens! I would
rather have lost twenty-five ducats than have suffered such a theft, and
the only one who can have done this is my own copyist; but I fervently
hope to supply the loss through Madame Tost, for I do not wish to incur
any reproaches from her. You must therefore, dear lady, be indulgent
towards me, until I can towards the end of July myself have the pleasure
of placing in your hands the sonata, as well as the symphony. Nota bene,
the symphony is to be given by myself, but the sonata by Madame Tost.
It is equally impossible for me to send Herr v. Kees the promised
symphonies at present, for here too there is a great want of faithful
copyists. If I had time, I would write them out myself, but no day, not
a single one, am I free from work, and I shall thank the good Lord when
I can leave London; the sooner the better. My labours are augmented
by the arrival of my pupil Pleyel, who has been summoned here by the
Professional Society to direct their concerts. He brought with him a
number of new compositions, which were, however, written long ago! He
accordingly promised to give a new piece every evening. On seeing this,
I could easily perceive that there was a dead set against me, so I
also announced publicly that I would likewise give twelve different new
pieces; so in order to keep my promise, and to support poor Salomon, I
must be the victim, and work perpetually. I do feel it, however, very
much. My eyes suffer most, and my nights are very sleepless, but with
God's help I will overcome it all. The Professors wished to put a spoke
in my wheel because I did not join their concerts, but the public is
just. Last year I received great applause, but this year still more.
Pleyel's presumption is everywhere criticized, and yet I love him, and
have gone to his concert each time, and been the first to applaud him.
I sincerely rejoice that you and yours are well. My kind regards to
all. The time draws near to put my trunks in travelling order. Oh! how
delighted shall I be to see you again, and to show personally all the
esteem that I felt for you in absence, and that I ever shall feel for
you.

Yours, etc.,

HAYDN.

P.S.—Please apologize to Herr v. Kees for want of time preventing my
sending him the new symphonies. I hope to have the honour of directing
them myself in your house, at our next Christmas music.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, April 24, 1792.

I yesterday evening received with much pleasure your last letter of 5
April, with the extract from the newspaper, extolling my poor talents to
the Viennese. I must confess that I have gained considerable credit with
the English in vocal music, by this little chorus, [The "Storm Chorus,"
see p. 91.] my first attempt with English words. It is only to be
regretted that, during my stay here, I have not been able to write more
pieces of a similar nature, but we could not find any boys to sing at
our concerts, they having been already engaged for a year past to sing
at other concerts, of which there are a vast number. In spite of the
great opposition of my musical enemies, who are so bitter against me,
more especially leaving nothing undone with my pupil Pleyel this winter
to humble me, still, thank God! I may say that I have kept the upper
hand. I must, however, admit that I am quite wearied and worn out with
so much work, and look forward with eager longing to the repose which
will soon take pity on me. I thank you, dear lady, for your kind
solicitude about me. Just as you thought, I do not require to go to
Paris at present, from a variety of reasons, which I will tell you when
we meet. I am in daily expectation of an order from my Prince, to whom
I wrote lately, to tell me where I am to go. It is possible that he may
summon me to Frankfort; if not, I intend (entre nous) to go by Holland
to the King of Prussia at Berlin, thence to Leipzig, Dresden, Prague,
and last of all to Vienna, where I hope to embrace all my friends.

Ever, with high esteem, etc.,

HAYDN.

INFORMATION ABOUT THIS E-TEXT EDITION

The preceding is the text of "Haydn," a biography of the composer Franz
Joseph Haydn, from the Master Musicians series. The book itself was
authored by J. Cuthbert Hadden, while the Master Musicians series itself
was edited by Frederick J. Crowest. "Haydn" was published in 1902 by
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